


of gods and monsters

by aflyingcoffeebean



Series: to which the world turns [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magic, Mythology - Freeform, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2019-10-20 08:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17618708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aflyingcoffeebean/pseuds/aflyingcoffeebean
Summary: His mother says these woods are cursed, bathed in the blood of a god long dead. From a time even before his family claimed them as their own. Abram sometimes wonders if it was his ancestors that killed the god, if they won the land through slaughter. That is what they’re known for, bloodshed.Abram meets a boy in the woods one night and his life is changed forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should be writing my other fic rn but this has been sitting in my head for a bit and i felt like getting it out. It's kinda just a little idea I've been working on as writing warm up. So I'm not so sure about it but I thought might as well share the first chapter.  
> You can find me @flighty-fox on tumblr if you want to chat or have questions or whatnot  
> And as always thanks for reading!

Abram is nine when he runs for the first time. He is nine and terrified, and he has no idea where he is running to, but any place is better than where he is running from. That house, his father, the lessons the man thought to teach Abram. It is too much. He does not like the blood, and he does not like the bruises, and he especially does not like it when he must bruise and bleed others.

His father likes it, though.

He wants Abram to be just like him. Cold, and merciless, and capable of killing without thought or mind. To take on his family’s legacy and serve the empire as he must. It is his duty as his father’s sole heir.

Abram does not like that, does not want that.

But he shouldn’t have said that to his father.

The cuts on his back  _ hurt, _ but not as much as the burns. Nothing ever hurts as much as the burns. They are a raking, aching pain that lingers, and lingers until they turn into ugly scars.

The area he runs through is a dark woodland situated at the edge of his family’s property and hugs the base of one of the taller mountains found in this country. His father’s family has lorded over this piece of land for centuries. Since ancient times. Long before the Morriyama’s claimed rule of the empire through twisted words and blood-stained knives the Wesninski’s controlled this land, and Abram doubts there’ll ever be a time they don’t.

Not if his father gets his way.

Abram takes another stumbling step, the twisting gnarled tree roots seeming to catch and pull at his feet, as if wanting to capture him. To trap him there until his father finds him. Abram rips his foot away and scurries on, not wanting to linger to long in one place.

The trees surrounding him are old. Their age reflected in the size and width of their trunks, how their branches seem as vast as oceans, so all-encompassing they hide the night sky and plunge Abram’s world into shadow. If one were to look up, they’d never see the full moon that shone brightly over the land, only darkness with a few brave beams of light that made it through the thick foliage overhead.

Abram has never been this far into the forest, not even when his father would take him out on his hunting trips. They always stayed away from the deep woods. It is dangerous this far out, he’d been told.

His mother says these woods are cursed, bathed in the blood of a god long dead. From a time even before his family claimed them as their own. Abram sometimes wonders if it was his ancestors that killed the god, if they won the land through slaughter. That is what they’re known for, bloodshed.

His foot catches on something else, and Abram can’t think of that anymore as he spends the next few minutes trying to extract it from the tangle of vines he got stuck in. Once it’s out he turns to move on, but his movements stop as his eyes catch on something glinting dimly in the undergrowth.

Against his better judgment, and the part of his brain that tells him his father has surely realized he’s gone by now, he bends down and reaches out to move aside some of the vines blocking his view.

He squints in the dimness, then blinks and moves more of the undergrowth out of the way. What stares back up at him is an amulet, intricate in design and glowing duly with an internal light all its own. After a long moment of contemplation Abram reaches down and plucks it from the tangle of vines to get a better look at it.

It’s warm under his palm, and shaped like a crescent moon, complex runes carved delicately into its surface. Abram cradles it gently in cupped palms, wondering who might have left it. It doesn’t seem too old. Someone is surely missing it.

As if sensing his thoughts, the amulet pulses once, letting out a bright light that illuminates Abram’s surroundings, and makes him flinch back in surprise. It dims again a moment later, still lighter than when he originally found it, but not blinding.

Abram’s eyes adjust to the faint light slowly, and when he can finally see again he realizes he might have ventured to far into the forest.

Around him are the desolate ruins of what once might have been a temple. Tall spires of white stone surround him, crumbling in some places, and in others still mimicking the skeleton of a truly huge building. It spans the mountain side, and Abram can just imagine what it had once been. A place of worship dedicated to a powerful deity with countless followers.  Abram has heard stories of this place. Of powerful priests gifted with the magic of the moon, able to heal as easily as they were able to kill. People feared them, and the god who’d gifted them their powers. The blessing they had were too great, and people set out to end them for it. That is how the god died, Abram remembers being told. He was trying to protect his people.

A breeze flows through the branches overhead, and for a moment the silver light of the moon grazes the elegant arches and pillars that dot the overgrown forest floor.

“What are you doing here?” A vacant voice says behind him, and Abram jerks around eyes wildly searching the trees until they land on the owner of the voice. A pale faced youth stares back at him, light hair almost white in the dull light coming from the amulet. A thin eyebrow arches delicately over two endless pits of shadow were his eyes should be. “Well?”

Abram can’t respond, mouth clamped shut over a fearful scream that threatens to bubble out of his throat. The person isn’t one of his father’s men, he looks too young, but Abram doesn’t think that fact made the situation any better.  He takes a step back, and turns swiftly, legs already running before his mind can fully process what he is doing.

He slams into something hard and falls gracelessly to the ground, his back screaming in pain as he lands amidst the rock and rubble.

The boy stands over him eyes still cast in shadow even as the light from the amulet directly hits his face. “You’re hurt.”

Abram sneers at that. “Now I am.”

The person standing over him doesn’t say anything to that, simply leaning down and studying Abram’s face. Abram shifts back, but the wounds on his back stretch and he lets slip a hiss of pain. The boy looks unimpressed. “I didn’t give you those.”

Abram frowns, there’s no way he could have seen his wounds, they are completely covered by Abram’s shirt.

The boy tilts his head, the strange shadow of his eyes seems to linger in the air a moment to long before it follows suit. “You smell like blood.”

Abram flinches back, a shiver racing up his spine. “What are you?”

“Who did this to you?” The boy asks without answering, and Abram is sure whatever this thing in front of him might be it isn’t human.

Perhaps it’s a spirit, hopefully it’s not something worse. “Why should I tell you?”

The boy gives him a long look that Abram feels, like fingers raking over his soul. “You’re the one who called me here. Was it not to seek vengeance?”

The amulet still clutched in his palm heats up at the boy’s words, and Abram thinks he might have messed up in grabbing the thing. Magic isn’t to be messed with. Realizing he can’t get away, Abram decides to do the opposite and leans forward with a glare. “I don’t need your help.”

There is silence for a second, and Abram hopes that is the last of it, but then his hope is crushed like usual. “What’s your name?”

Abram narrows his eyes. “Why would I tell some woodland ghost that?”

“Woodland ghost…” the boy mutters to himself, but he doesn’t sound offended which pisses Abram off in a way.

“If you want my name then tell me yours,” Abram says carelessly, trying to get any sort of reaction from the ghost. Could spirits even feel? This one doesn’t really act like it.

The boy watches him for a moment, and there is almost something there in the darkness of his eyes. A glint of silver, maybe, like the slimmest thread of a new moon. “You can call me Andrew.”

‘Andrew’ stares at him while Abram remains silent, waiting for his response. Abram supposes he shouldn’t go back on his word, not with a spirit at least. “...I’m Abram.”

“Abram.” The name rolls off of Andrew’s tongue with the sound of bells as it fills the empty forest. “Who did this to you?”

Abram shakes his head and keeps his mouth shut, he’s already said too much.

Andrew seems to expect this and pushes on. “I saw you running through the woods like a scared little rabbit.”

Bristling Abram grits his teeth. “I’m not a rabbit.”

“Could have fooled me.” Andrew shifts back, settling on the ground. “But who’s hunting you?”

Abram snaps his mouth shut again. “What do you want spirit?”

“Nothing.” The answer seems almost automatic coming from Andrew’s lips. “I can heal you, though.”

“And what would you want in return?”

Sharp laughter breaks through the darkness, and it takes Abram a moment to realize it’s Andrew’s. “You’ve already given me your name  _ Abram _ .”

Magic pulses through the ground with the words, sending a shock up Abram’s spine. He weighs his options. “Can you make it so they don’t scar?”

Andrew nods slowly, and after a pause Abram turns his back to the spirit before him. “Then do it.”

A cool hand touches the center of his spine, but instead of inflicting the pain Abram expected a wave of numbness washes over his wounds as they slowly stitched themselves back together.

The hand is gone a breath later, and Abram turns back around to find Andrew still sitting where he had been. Abram stretches and twists but finds no pain from the cuts and burns his father had inflicted on him. It is a relief. “Thank you.”

Andrew’s eyes widen slightly as if he’s never heard the words before, but he says nothing and lets the silence settle between them.

Abram doesn’t say anything either, and his legs have long gone numb before he breaks their quiet. “I need to go home.”

The moon has lowered itself to the horizon, its soft light falling between the gaps in the trees and mixing with that of the amulet. Hours must have passed since he’d run from his father, but to Abram it feels like only minutes have gone by. Andrew is still sitting across from him on the overgrown grass. Fingers fiddling with a piece of what once might have been a statue, Abram isn’t sure.

“You want to go back?”

Abram looks to him at that, and just barely there he can hear a faint trace of  _ something  _ in the other boy’s voice. It might be anger. “I need to, it’ll only be worse if I don’t.”

“You could leave.”

Abram shakes his head at that impossibility and stands up, dusting off his breeches and straightening his shirt. Andrew’s eerie eyes trace his movements, but Abram isn’t as off put by them as he had been. There’s something to be said in spending a night in silence with another, Abram felt a familiarity with the spirit that he hadn’t before. “There’s nowhere for me to go.”

Andrew’s head dips at that.

Abram reaches out, the amulet he’d been holding dangling from the tips of his fingers. Its light seems to reflect off of Andrew’s hair, making it glow as if a halo of white surrounds him, but the light doesn’t reach his eyes. They instead eat away at it until nothing remains. Abram wonders why that is. “Here, this is yours, right?”

Andrew studies the amulet, a slight furrow appearing between his brows. “No.”

“No?” It wasn’t? But hadn’t that been how he’d summoned Andrew? It only made since that the spirit before him had once owned the amulet, how else would he be here now?

Andrew shakes his head again. “No, keep it. It is something meant to protect, something I don’t need.”

The anymore went unsaid.

Andrew stands and takes a step forward, hands loosely wrapping around the amulet’s chain and pulling it from Abram’s loose grip, contradicting the words he’d just spoke. There is a second as it hangs in the air between them where the runes creeping up the sides of the crescent moon shine a wispy blue, but when Abram blinks its back to how it had been, glowing a simple faint silver. Andrew nods to himself slightly, then gently places the chain over Abram’s head and around his neck, never once touching his skin.

Abram looks down, feeling a warmth settling in his chest, like a pool of magic had been placed above his heart. “What did you do?”

Andrew steps back and turns away, beginning to walk deeper into the ruins without looking back. “Made it so you can find this place again, if you want to.”

Abram blinks in surprise, and the boy disappears. Leaving the temple as empty as it had first been when Abram found it. Tracing a palm over the amulet’s curved surface Abram takes a breath, steels himself, and starts the long walk back home, all the while wondering about a certain spirit and his mysterious eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the update schedule for this is gonna be whenever i feel like posting it, but the good news is its pretty short so unless everything goes wrong it should be once a weekish (this is the shortest multi chapter fic i've ever written so hopefully i can at least pretend to have an update scheduled). I almost added a fluff tag but then was like nah, cause there's not enough that i feel like it needs that tag, but there might just be random fluff just here and there.  
> You can find me on tumblr @flight-fox  
> As always, thanks for reading/ commenting/kudoing!

The second time he finds the temple is a lot like the first. Abram is a trembling wreck from watching the fight his parents had earlier that day, and as he lie awake with the distant screams of his mother echoing in his ears, he can’t take it anymore.  

The moon waxes wearily overhead as Abram slips out of his window and climbs swiftly down the vines that grow along the terraced walls of his family's castle. His hands are trembling, but he ignores that as his feet touch the grown and he begins running towards the forest. One day his father will lock the windows in his room permanently, and Abram will have no way of getting out, but that hasn’t happened yet, so Abram takes advantage of his way out while he can.

He usually only uses his exit to go hide in the corner garden until morning, but his feet pull him forward without a thought, across the open fields and into the dark woodlands he’d gone to all those weeks ago. One hand grips the amulet now permanently situated around his neck, so it doesn’t get caught on any branches, while the other one carefully traces the trees he passes by.

As he goes farther into the forest the amulet begins to glow faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat. Abram isn’t sure how it’s meant to let him find the temple again, isn’t sure if he wants to find that place again, but the steady glow is calming. After a while his hands even stop shaking. That’s when Abram notices how quiet his surroundings have become, the usual noises of the night fading until they are absent entirely.

Abram pauses in his walking and looks around, realizing he’s standing where he had originally found the amulet. He frowns at the ground but can’t remember how exactly it was he got here. The vines underneath his feet hold no answers either. It has to be some sort of magic this place holds, but for Abram magic was something as foreign to him as the ocean. A force that only existed in people's stories, though he knows they must be true to some degree. Stories do not rise from nothing, after all.

“You’re back,” Andrew’s voice rings through the silence, and Abram looks up to find him sitting on a fallen pillar. There’s something a bit disbelieving in the twist of his lips, as if he never expected to see Abram again.

Abram relaxes just slightly, and after a hesitant moment walks over to Andrew and sits down next to the boy. Andrew turns his head to regard him, and Abram realizes there’s a small silver glow in the middle of his shadowed eyes that he can’t remember being there last time, like the most distant star in the night sky. “You said I could come back, if I wanted to.”

“And, did you want to?”

It hadn’t been his intention, but Abram isn’t sure that matters now that he’s here. “Yes.”

Andrew doesn’t seem to have words for that, his gaze drifting up to the branches overhead and the sky that surely lies beyond. Abram wishes he could read the other’s face, but Andrew looks as calm and indifferent as he did the first time. Maybe that’s just how he was, or maybe it is a mask he put on for others to see. Abram doubts he’ll ever find out.

“Do you get visitors often?” Abram asks instead, wondering how many wanderers have accidentally stumbled onto this place.

“You’re the first.” Andrew doesn’t look over to him. “It’s meant to be hidden.”

Abram frowns. “But I found it.”

Leaning back on his hands Andrew cranes his neck as if he is watching something pass through the night sky, but there is no sky, only leaves, and Abram feels a shudder creep up his spine at the thought of the boy seeing something he can’t. “So it seems.”

“What is this place?”

“What do you think it is?”

Abram considers the question for a moment. “I think it used to be a temple.”

“And now?”

“Now it just seems like a ruin.”

Andrew lets out a breath, and the night seems to sigh with him. “Time does that.”

“Was it something else, before?” Abram is curious if the stories are true or not. The being before him is definitely old, and while he usually curbs his questions in order to not invoke the wrath of others, he’s let his guard down around Andrew. If only a little. It should bother Abram more than it does, but he feels like he can trust the spirit for some reason.

Andrew stands and turns to him, eyes distant and dark. “It was a sanctuary, not anyone can just enter here.”

“But I did.”

“You did…”

“And then, you let me keep the amulet,” Abram says, rising to stand beside the boy. He only just notices it, but Andrew is slightly shorter than him. Which is truly a feat, seeing as Abram is considered small for his age.

“I did…” Andrew’s gaze bores into Abram’s own, and there is definitely a light there that didn’t exist last time. This close Abram thinks it looks less like a distant star, and more like the moon hidden behind layers of thick clouds.

Abram looks over Andrew’s shoulder to the white expanse of weathered stonework that lie in heaps and piles around them. “Is there more to this place?”

Andrew follows his gaze, and nods slowly. “Yes.”

“Can I see it?”

Andrew tilts his head towards him and studies him a moment before he replies, “Yes.”

* * *

He doesn’t know why he keeps coming back to the decaying temple, not really. There’s something about the place his mind sticks on no matter how far away he is, or what he might be doing. His mind inevitably wanders back to Andrew and his odd eyes whenever his concentration slips.

His father has started to notice something is distracting him from his lessons, which makes everything  _ worse. _

So, he goes back, and each time Andrew is there waiting for him.

He wouldn’t admit it to the boy’s face, he’s much too prideful for that, but Andrew has become one of the only good things in Abram’s life. He likes sneaking out of his window in the dark of night to wander the old temple grounds with the spirit. It’s quiet, peaceful even. Something Abram isn’t used to. His home is always loud with yell’s, and when it’s not the silence is so oppressive Abram can’t stand it.

It is the first time in his life that Abram hasn’t felt alone, and he isn’t sure he’s ever talked as much as he does with Andrew. While Abram hasn’t grown up entirely alone, he’s never spent much time with others his age. Though some of the servants have children his age he doesn’t see them ever, and he’s not sure he wants to count his encounters with Lord Tetsuji’s adopted children as anything more than the forced interactions that they were.

While he does speak to his mother, she’s distant. Cold. Abram thinks she blames him, in a way. 

So, it is nice, not being totally alone.

Abram’s eyes wander back to the boy walking along at his side, and he wonders if this is what having a friend is like.

Andrew catches him staring, the clouded moons in his eyes seem brighter each time Abram sees him. “What?”

“How long have you been here?” Abram gestures to the ruins around them. They’re in what once was probably a pavilion of some sort, located in a high walled courtyard, and Abram can just imagine the types of gardens it must have contained. Now it’s just overgrown weeds and sprawling trees.

Andrew frowns, the expression scrunching up his light brows and twisting his lips. The dim twin moons in his eyes dance and flicker out for a moment. “I’ve always been.”

Andrew sometimes says strange things. Abram tries to convey this with a look. Andrew rolls his eyes in response, but doesn’t say anything else, seeming to find the trees much more interesting all of a sudden as he walks away from Abram.

Abram huffs, and speeds up to keep stride with the boy. He rethinks his question, knowing Andrew has no intention of elaborating on his answer. “How long ago was this temple being used.”

Andrew pauses. “Who’s currently ruling?”

“Emperor Moriyama,” Abram spits the name like a curse.

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Lucky.”

Andrew gives him a look, then turns back to the tree he’d been examining. “There used to not be trees here.”

Abram looks around them, at how the dark forest had invaded the temple grounds. “It is pretty overgrown,” Abram supposed that meant it had been quite a while, then.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Andrew turns to him, slim fingers tracing invisible runes over tree bark, they flicker blue for a split second before fading again. “This mountainside used to be barren.”

“But this forest has been around for thousands of years,” Abram says, eyes widening in surprise.

“And this temple has been here longer.”

“And so have you?”

Andrew stares at him blankly.

Abram stares back. He’s pretty sure the answer is yes, but Andrew likes weaving around his questions, especially when it comes to his past. It’s frustrating, but not in a bad way. Abram can talk in circles too. “Are there others like you here?”

“No,” Andrew answers bluntly.

“So, you’re the only spirit left here.” The thought makes Abram a bit sad.

“No, there are other spirits.” Confusion crosses Abram’s face, and Andrew decides to continue. “They stay away though.”

“Ah.” Abram nods. “It’s probably because of your personality.”

Andrew whips around to face him, and Abram yelps as the other boy shoves him over. On instinct Abram reaches out to grab Andrew’s arm to steady himself, but that ends up only sending them both tumbling onto the moon stained grass with a thud.

“Ouch,” Abram mumbles, reaching back to rub at his head.

Andrew grumbles something unintelligible from where his face is pressed awkwardly into the grass. Abram sits up and looks over to him. “What?”

Flipping over Andrew gives him a small glare. “Idiot.”

Abram feels a laugh bubbling up his throat and before he can stop himself it spills out of his mouth and into the night like chimes. His hand is covering his mouth a second later, and he stares down at Andrew with wide eyes.

Andrew’s looking back at him, mouth slightly open, a dusting of color brushing his cheeks, and the light in his eyes glowing steady and warm. He turns his head away a moment later, and mumbles another ‘idiot’ under his breath.

Abram curbs the grin slipping over his lips before Andrew can see it.

* * *

“I’ll rip his throat out the next time he hurts you,” the words should tear out of Andrew with anger, but instead they are shrouded in a deadly calm that puts Abram on edge all the more.

He weakly shakes his head in protest. “You can’t.”

“I  _ can. _ ”

“Don’t, it’s not worth it.”

Andrew looks up at him, and Abram gets the feeling that if he wasn’t healing Abram’s wounds, he’d be running off to stab Abram’s father on the spot. It was a nice thought, but in the long run it would be more destructive than good. Abram is a bloody mess for simply mis-stepping in his interaction with one of his father’s guests. Surely if his father was killed now, he’d simply come back from the underworld to bind and torture Abram for the rest of his short life. The grip on Abram’s wrist tightens. “You’re worth it.”

Abram sighs and closes his eyes, he’s so tired.

Too young to be this tired, really.

“When I’m stronger I’ll make him pay,” Andrew says under his breath, and Abram isn’t sure if he was meant to hear that or not.

Abram cracks his eyes open and says a soft “no,” that floats into the air like a crack of thunder. Andrew looks up at him sharply. The black mist clouding his eyes seems to be back ten fold, and Abram can feel him pulling away. He grabs at Andrew’s hand gracelessly, and the boy stiffens. “No, no. I just want to make him pay myself.”

Andrew’s eyes bore into his, and he nods slowly. “Then you will.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I am.” Andrew slips his hand from Abram’s grip, but a moment later his touch returns, and he turns Abram’s hand over to trace a complex rune into his palm.

Abram watches with vague, distant, awe as swirls of silver light consume his palm. It doesn’t hurt, only tingles slightly, but it does leave behind a faint mark. Abram thinks it resembles the amulet he wears around his neck. “What is this?”

“My blessing,” Andrew says, and curls Abram’s hand into a fist. With his hand cupped between Andrew’s a wave of warmth sweeps over him, settling into his soul. “When the time is right you will make your father pay.”

Abram feels the words settle like a weight in his gut; Andrew for once doesn’t sound indifferent.

The twin moons in Andrew’s eyes are brighter than Abram has ever seen them, a stark contrast to the darkness they his eyes held the moment before, and Abram can’t look away. Andrew’s hands are trembling slightly where they grip Abram’s. “And until then I will protect you, I swear it Abram.”

Abram gazes at his friend for a long moment before his eyes slip shut again against his wishes. The last thought he has before sleep takes him is of acceptance, and the knowledge that he believes Andrew’s words entirely.

He doesn’t understand, but he believes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please ignore how the chapter count keeps increasing, this might end up being a little longer than I thought it was going to be.  
> As always thanks for reading/commenting/kudoing!  
> You can find me @flighty-fox on tumblr

Andrew keeps his promise as best he can, healing Abram’s wounds and giving him a place to escape to when he needs it. It’s enough for Abram, but he can tell it frustrates the other boy that he can’t do more. As it turns out, Andrew is unable to leave the temple no matter how much he may want to.

“They’ve sealed me here,” Andrew curses, venom in his voice and black mist seeping from his eyes. Abram wonders if Andrew notices as he paces another circle around where Abram sits silently. The new moon above them stretches out like a sharp grin in the dark of night, as if it finds the situation funny. Andrew stops pacing, in front of him is the tree under which Abram found the amulet and raises his hand once more. He pushes forward with all his strength, but it’s as if he’s hit an invisible wall. Upon pushing harder red runes appear, pulsing and angry. Andrew lowers his hand and starts to pace again.

Abram folds his arms over his knees and rests his cheek on them. “How did you not realize there was a seal over the temple sooner?”

There is a pause in Andrew’s movement, then the boy turns to stare at him as if he’s stupid. “I wasn’t awake.”

“Why don’t you try the amulet then, that’s how I get through,” Abram points out.

Andrew shakes his head. “The amulet was made for mortals, it won’t work for me.”

Abram sighs, a cool night breeze passes through the leaves overhead. The days are getting shorter, and new colors have begun winding their way into the landscape. It’s been months since he first found this place, since he first met Andrew, yet he still feels like he knows so little of the boy.

Andrew is a spirit, Abram supposes it makes sense he wouldn’t be able to use the amulet now, even if he once could. “Is there a way to break it?”

Andrew stops in front of him, eyes distant as he looks somewhere over Abram’s head. “There should be, it will take time, though.”

“How much time?” Time didn’t seem to touch Andrew in the way it did the rest of the world, sometimes it doesn’t seem like the boy realizes anytime has passed at all.

Andrew’s lips twitch downward. “I don’t know.”

Abram doesn’t like the thought of Andrew being trapped in here for the rest of eternity, doesn’t understand why the seal was put up. “Can the other spirits here leave?

Andrew stills, face blank. “I don’t know.”

“Then we should ask them,” Abram says, standing.

Andrew looks like that’s the last thing he wants to do, but Abram’s already moving further into the temple and Andrew can only follow reluctantly behind. Abram doesn’t know where he’s going, yet that doesn’t stop him. “You don’t know where they are,” Andrew points out.

Abram looks back at him, ducking under a half-fallen pillar, and gracefully weaving his way through the ruins. He’s grown quite familiar with the temple in the past months, it’s not surprising considering he spends almost every night wandering it with Andrew. Abram isn’t sure how he hasn’t been caught by his father yet, but he’s grateful for it. “Well, they avoid you, right?” Andrew frowns, but nods. “So, are there places you don’t go to in the temple?”

“Yes,” Andrew answers quietly, and Abram thinks his face looks a little paler in the darkness than it normally does.

“We can check there, then”

Andrew doesn’t say anything for a moment, his hand clenches around the overly large shirt he always wares, and his front teeth snag on his bottom lip. “Fine.”

He slips around Abram carefully, then takes a left. Abram follows him silently as they venture into a section of the temple he’s never been to before. It’s tucked away in a valley where the trees are thin, and the moon is able to shine brightly overhead. The ground is mostly rock, and, Abram realizes after a lingering look, that the rock is placed in a specific way. As if creating a giant pattern on the valley floor. The air is heavy around them, weighted with something dark, and the entire place smells vaguely like iron. In the center of the valley the rocks grow bigger and are piled on top of each other to form a sort of stage that’s in the shape of a crescent moon. In the center of the stage is stabbed a long, thin, object that seems to be embedded in the rock.

“What is that?” Abram asks, squinting his eyes to try and see it better in the darkness.

“A spear,” Andrew says, voice dull. Abram looks to him, worried, but Andrew stares straight ahead.

Abram opens his mouth to ask more but stops as he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. He turns his head slowly to find a wispy ball of light dancing along the rocks to their right.

Abram frowns. “Is that…”

“A spirit,” Andrew say from over his shoulder. “We’re going to have to catch it.”

Abram looks to the other boy, then looks to the small ball of light and frowns. “But…”

‘What?” Andrew takes a step closer, keeping his voice low. His eyes are trained on the little spirit, calculating.

“I thought it’d look more like you,” Abram says. “More like a person.”

Andrew pauses and looks to him, hesitation fleetingly crossing his face. “It’s… a low-level spirit.”

Abram guesses that makes sense

“How do we catch it?”

“You grab it.”

“Just like that?”

Andrew nods. “I’ll make it come towards you, and you grab it.”

“Okay...” Abram doesn’t think their plan sounds all that great, but Andrew disappears before he can say anything.

He reappears a moment later behind the wisp. The spirit reacts immediately, it’s gentle bob turning into a jerky jolt. It flees within the next second, straight towards Abram. Running a few steps forward Abram reaches out, encircles the spirit in his arms, pulls it to his chest, and stumbles forward. Abram stops before he falls, though, Andrew’s hand resting lightly against his arm and steadying him. The spirit clutched to his chest struggles, and Abram tightens his grip. It’s odd, like holding a solid type of cloud, but instead of emitting warmth like Abram expects it is cool to the touch.

“You did it,” Andrew says blankly.

Abram laughs. “I’m fast.”

“You are.” He lets go of Abram slowly, and looks around. The moon has crept high into the sky taking a place almost directly over the valley they stand in. It lines up perfectly with the spear sticking out of the rock.

Andrew shudders at the sight, and Abram startles, eyes wide as he watches the boy. Andrew’s face might be forced into indifference, but his eyes are another story. They look tormented almost, black mist swirling across silver as if driven by the winds of a storm.

“We should go,” Abram says into the quiet.

“Yes,” Andrew answers, but he doesn’t move.

“Andrew.”

Andrew stays silent, and without forethought Abram reaches over and lightly touches Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew flinches, hard, and Abram yanks his hand away hugging the spirit closer to his chest. Andrew stares at him with wide eyes, his breathing harsh. Abram takes a step back. “We should leave,” he repeats.

“ _Yes,_ ” Andrew whispers, then turns on his heel and heads back the way they came.

Abram follows, only looking back to the valley once as they leave. He wonders what it is about the place that makes him feel so hollow inside.

“What was that place?”

Andrew looks back at him, something complicated playing over his face. It’s a long moment before he responds, “...it’s where I died.”

Abram doesn’t know what to say to that.

They arrive back at what is steadily becoming their tree and look to where the edge of the seal is located. It looks like nothing out of the ordinary, only visible when Andrew forces magic into it.

“Give me the spirit.” Andrew holds out his hand without looking at Abram. Abram places the little ball of light gently into his hand, making sure not to touch him as he does so.

Andrew grabs the little spirit, ignoring its increased struggling. Taking a step forward Andrew thrusts it towards the seal with little preamble, the spirit goes through easily. Without a spark of light or glow of runes, but Andrew’s hand stops abruptly when it hits the boundary line.

“Spirits can go through,” Andrew states, voice devoid of emotion.

The spirit in question seems to realize its free, and hurries off in a streak of light. Abram steps forward as he watches it go, coming to stand by Andrew’s side. “Why was it so scared of you?”

“It thought I was going to eat it,” Andrew says bluntly.

“Do you do that often?”

Andrew turns to look at him, not saying anything. His eyes flash, and the trees around them creak and groan. Wind whips the air, ruffling Andrew’s pale locks into a fluffy mess. It’s so ridiculous that Abram lets out a snort. Andrew frowns at him, then brushes past with a huff, shoulder gently pushing against Abram’s.

Abram turns alongside him. “How are we going to break the seal?”

“We’re not.”

A question hangs in the air between them, and Andrew sighs. “The magic here is to powerful, we can’t break it, but maybe we can crack it.”

“How?”

“Do you know any magic?” Andrew asks. Looking to the sky.

Abram shakes his head.

“Then I’ll teach you.”

* * *

“The equinox is happening soon,” Andrew says from where he sits next to Abram. There’s a little flame burning in Abram’s palm, its light flickering over the two boys, and casting dancing shadows over the trees. Andrew had tried to initially teach Abram ways to cast runes for protection, but after multiple failed attempts switched his tactics. It is a slow process, but Abram can now at least find his magic, and with Andrew’s help use it. It’s all he can do for now, but slowly he’s learning more. Andrew has a plan to crack the seal, they just need time.

Andrew has a lot of that, Abram not so much.

The fire jumps across his fingers. It is warm, but not hot. It doesn’t burn him like the heated metal his father likes to use on his skin, but Abram knows he could burn others with it if he wanted to. He does not want to.

“What happens during the equinox?” Abram asks, looking to him. The little fire flickers out when he stops concentrating on it, sending them back into shadow. Andrew leans closer and cups a hand over Abram’s, igniting the flame again. It’s white this time, powered by Andrew’s magic, and oddly cool. Less like holding flame, and more like concentrated moonlight deciding to look like flame.

“This temple was built for the mon,” Andrew explains, moving away from Abram. “The equinox used to be celebrated here.”

“It’s not anymore,” Abram points out. The temple is long forgotten by now.

Andrew rolls his eyes. “Yes, not anymore, but there is still strong magic that lingers here. During the equinox even more so.”

Abram brings the light closer to his face and blows on it. The air makes it dance and bob like the little spirits he’ll sometimes encounter in the forest. He’s still yet to see one like Andrew, but when he asks the boy just shrugs and tells him they’re out there somewhere.

“Do you think that magic could help us crack the seal?”

“...possibly.” Andrew says dryly. “Or not. You should come either way.”

Abram looks up at him, but Andrew’s face is turned away. “Alright.”

* * *

The equinox arrives sooner than Abram expects, and it’s with tired limbs and weary eyes that Abram trudges into the dark forest to find Andrew. His father has decided to officially start Abram’s training as his heir, which means Abram is spending more time in the man’s presence than he would ever wish to. The stench of blood seems to have soaked permanently into his nose, and Abram shudders when he remembers what exactly it was his father did to the spy Emperor Moriyama sent him.

What he made Abram do.

Andrew’s blessing might make him heal faster, and it might make it so he isn’t wounded as easily, but it can’t protect Abram from himself.

Abram stumbles into the temple attempting to shake the thought away, but halts a moment later as a finger presses against his lips. Abram jerks his head up to find Andrew in front of him, and the boy makes a shushing noise before glancing behind him. It puts Abram on edge, but he clamps his mouth shut and watches the boy.

After a few seconds of silence Andrew lowers his hand and turns back to Abram. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

Andrew sighs. “Close your eyes.”

Abram stares at him for a long moment then shuts his eyes. Andrew gently takes his hand and leads him farther into the temple. Abram keeps his eyes shut, for the most part, the path isn’t flat. Roots pull and tug at his feet with little remorse.

The two boys come to an abrupt halt some ten minutes later, and Andrew quickly lets go of Abram’s hand leaving him in isolated darkness. Abram opens his mouth to say something, but a finger is pressed against his lips again a second later. “Open your eyes.”

Abram does reluctantly, gaze trained on Andrew who stares back, eyes full moon bright. His face is less guarded than usual, and as Abram stares, he realizes there’s something different about Andrew. It’s as if a faint light is coming from the entirety of his being, like magic is flowing from his pores. Andrew point’s behind him. “Look.”

Abram turns around and can’t hold back the gasp that escapes his lips. They’re in an old amphitheater they’ve visited many times before, but it’s different now. The forest around them is alight with magic, runes glowing from the trunks of trees create intricate patterns that stretch for miles into the forest. There are small spirits flitting about, seemingly uncaring about Andrew’s presence, and Abram thinks he can hear soft notes of music flowing through the air.

“What is this?” Abram asks in awe.

Andrew stands beside him, brushing his shoulder against Abram’s. There’s slight amusement in his voice when he answers, “Magic.”

Abram can’t look away from his surroundings and doesn’t catch the way Andrew’s eyes linger on his face. “Oh.”

It’s almost as if the temple is slowly rebuilding itself through light.

“Do you want to see more?”

“ _Yes.”_  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the amount of time skips only increases from here on out  
> thanks for reading/kudoing/commenting!

It's like they've entered another world, one of soft glowing lights and distant laughter. The temple surrounding them is huge, it seems to go on continuously for miles into the forest, intricately carved arches and pillars flowing seamlessly with the trees that surround it. Abram can’t tell if the glow the walls produce is caused by how the illusion is carved from moonlight, or if it had been like that in the past.

“Are you the one doing this?” He asks as they walk down a long corridor adorned with elaborate lanterns. The fire in them is pure white, like Andrew’s.

“No.” Andrew looks around them, his eyes distant. “The land remembers what it once was, I guess.”

“You guess?”

Andrew shrugs. “I’ve been asleep a while.”

A smile pulls at Abram’s lips. “So, you didn’t know this was going to happen either.”

Andrew turns to him, frowning. “I knew something would happen.”

“Sure you did.”

Andrew shoves him with his shoulder, it isn’t hard, but it does make Abram stumble. Though the ground underneath his feet resembles the intricate tile work the temple used to have it still feels like walking on the forest floor. It’s disorienting, in a way

Andrew reaches over, steadying him with a hand griping his arm. Abram pushes into him lightly. “Is this what it was like when you were alive?”

Andrew nods slowly. “But louder.”

“Really?” Abram tries to imagine it and fails. The ruined temple and its silence have always been a constant in Abram’s visits, that it had once been loud and alive isn’t easy to picture. “Did you like it?”

Andrew thinks for a moment before answering, “I thought it was annoying.”

Abram isn’t surprised.

Andrew takes a second to soak in his surroundings, then abruptly turns a corner down a hallway covered in tapestries woven form the finest materials. Abram follows close behind, not understanding the scenes depicted on the hangings. They look to be stories, of what though, Abram cannot tell. Their designs are so complex that the overall impression is somewhat chaotic. The only consistency in them being the symbol of a crescent moon.

Andrew looks back, seeming to realize Abram had slowed to a stop. “They’re not that interesting.”

Abram shoots him a look. “You just say that because you already know the stories.”

Andrew pauses. “You don’t?”

Shaking his head Abram looks back to the tapestry he is in front of. Andrew walks over to him, coming to stand by his side. A complicated look plays over his face as he gazes at the weaving. “This one is about a boy who ran for so long and so far, he lost who he was. He reached the edges of this world, and kept going without looking back, only ever stopping when he finally ran out of breaths to take.”

Andrew points to a place on the tapestry where the image of a boy kneels in a vast dark area.

Abram leans forward taking a closer look the boys sad face, but it’s obscured by shadows. “And then what happened?”

“Someone found him.” Andrew points over to where the picture has changed. The boy still sits in darkness but there is a crescent of silver over his head bringing a beam of light to land on his form. “Or, he found them.”

“Who were they?

“A god.”

“The one of this temple?”

Andrew nods slowly. “It was too late for the boy, though.”

“He died.”

“Yes,” Andrew say quietly. “But the moon had grown attached, so he took the boy’s soul and gave him the stars to roam until the day he felt it was safe to return.”

Abram’s gaze shifts to the end of the tapestry where a vast night sky is depicted. “But that god is dead now.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe they found each other again,” Abram says, looking over to Andrew.

“...maybe.”

Andrew takes a moment to gaze the tapestry before turning away and heading back down the hallway.

They continue through the visage of the temple at an unhurried pace, Andrew pointing out areas where magic flows in the tiles and the walls, explaining in his steady voice what each wing was dedicated to, and what specific rooms were used for. He talks of how the priests that lived here were dedicated mostly to the art of healing and protection, but how some embodied the more destructive side magic comes in.

“It was part of the reason attention was drawn to this place,” Andrew says lowly, and folds his arms over his chest staring off into the distance. They stand in a large room, the majority of it taken up by rows of columns that are carved to represent minor deities and earth spirits, according to Andrew. In the center is a sculpture of two figures, one holds up a golden sun while the other holds a silver moon. The details of their faces are hidden in the finely carved fabric of the hoods they wear.

“Is that why the temple was destroyed?” Abram asks neck craned back as he looks at the figures.

“Not entirely,” Andrew sounds indifferent, but his head is bowed as he stares at the floor.

“You were there, weren’t you?” It’s not a question, Abram already knows the answer, just has never said it out loud. Neither of them have.

Andrew nods, and Abram takes a step closer to him pressing his shoulder against Andrew’s own. He doesn’t say anything, and Andrew doesn’t speak either as they take in the ghost of the dead temple around them.

Sometimes words are not enough.

* * *

Winter comes with a dusting of snow that frosts the trees, and the ground, and the ruined temple with little care. Abram finds out that Andrew hates the cold with a vengeance, he wants to question how a spirit can even feel the cold but doesn’t, and they spend their nights huddling together beside fires Abram has grown comfortable with creating. The temple is back to being how it normally is, a ruin that guards its secrets close, and the night of the equinox feels more like a distant dream each day.

Andrew is pressed against his side, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders that Abram snuck out of his home with a week ago, and petulant look on his face. The fire before them crackles merrily sending a column of sparks into the air that dance and pop until they dim and disappear. Andrew has started teaching him on the ways of runes, and all around them are carefully drawn sigils. Some glow with faint traces of magic, while others seem dark and empty.

“The process for cracking the seal will have to be done in three steps,” Andrew grumbles, sinking lower into the blanket. His head comes to rest on Abram’s shoulder as he glares threateningly at the fire, as if willing it to be warmer. “We can start the week of the spring equinox.”

“Do you think I’ll be able to use magic well enough by then?”

Andrew shakes his head. “The first step is the easiest, it won't require you to. The others… will take time.”

“How much time?”

Andrew is quiet for a moment, thinking. “Magic is something that needs to build. It could take years.”

Abram nods, his chin bushing against Andrew’s soft hair for just a moment. “So, the sooner we start the better.”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t we start now?”

“Too cold.”

Abram laughs at that. “That’s not a reason Andrew.”

Andrew glares at him through his lashes. “The innate magic of this place is more accessible at the equinoxes, as you know. We should start the process and place the counter sigils right before then, so they take in that magic. It will make the process faster. Is that better?”

“Yes,” Abram smirks which results in Andrew shoving him over. Abram lands on his back with a huff, eyes trained towards the sky and the stars that gaze down at them. The moon is a half disc almost directly overhead.

A second later its light is blocked out by the shadow of Andrew’s head. “You’re annoying,” he says.  

“You don’t mind,” Abram says. Andrew rolls his eyes and holds out a hand, an offering Abram takes gingerly. Before Andrew has the chance to pull him up though, Abram is yanking at his arm and the boy falls to the ground beside him with a soft oof.

Andrew’s grip tightens, his fingers are on top of the protection rune he gave Abram all those months ago. There’s a glare on his face that can’t hide the soft twinkle in his moonlit eyes. “I’m reconsidering that.”

“No you’re not.”

“Don’t test your luck.”

“You wouldn’t let me.”

Andrew stares at him for a long moment then reaches up with his other hand and pokes Abram between his brows. Abram scrunches his face at the icy cold of Andrew’s hand, but doesn’t pull away. Andrew stays like that for a moment before releasing his breath and dropping his hand. He leaves behind a tingling sensation, and Abram wonders if he’ll find the faint traces of a pale rune where Andrew’s finger had been when he gets home. Hopefully it won't be too noticeable, his father already suspected something was going on.

“Careful Abram, I have no control over luck.”

“That’s fine,” Abram shrugs as best he can. “I don’t have much of it anyway.”

“More than you know.” Andrew says dryly.

“Maybe the bad kind,” Abram relents.

There’s a long moment of silence as Andrew’s silver eyes roam over his face. “Not if I can help it.”

Abram wishes he knew what Andrew meant by that.

* * *

Spring meets Abram with soft blooms, and new life growing from the cracks and crevices winter left. It’s been quiet at home, his birthday passes without note, and his father is away at the capital tending to the emperor's wishes, whatever ghastly things those may be. Abram likes it. He sees his mother more, and while she’s still quiet around him when she does speak her words are less careful. Her footsteps land more solidly on the ground, and she seems less like a ghost silently avoiding the shadow of his father and more like the hard-edged woman Abram knew from his earliest memories.

The temple has also regained some life with the melting of the snow and, while Abram can’t say Andrew seems happier, his demeanor has softened back into indifference with the warmth. As the nights grow shorter, they progress with their plans to implement the first step in breaking the seal.

Three nights before the equinox Andrew and Abram stand underneath their tree shoulder to shoulder as Andrew explains his plan. “The first step is to inscribe runes on key spiritual points around the temple. This will disrupt the pattern of the seal by slowly drawing magic away from it and into a pattern of our own. It will take time but will amass energy if given enough.”

Abram nods along, Andrew’s lessons have come in handy, at least in regards to Abram’s ability to understand what Andrew’s saying. “And we’ll use that energy to crack the seal.”

“Eventually.” Andrew’s eyes are two steady crescent moons glowing dimly, like small reflections of the new moon over their heads. “It serves another purpose, though.”

“How so?”

“This temple is somewhat separated from your world, to keep it hidden. Disciples used amulets like yours as keys to enter here, but it’s this separation that has allowed the seal to grow so strong. Its magic has amplified the seal making this place like a pocket of time well removed from the land it sits on,” Andrew says slowly, and turns to Abram. “The second purpose of the runes is to ground this place again.”

“That doesn’t sound easy Andrew,” Abram points out.

“It will also take time, but if the runes we construct already have a connection to something outside it will happen naturally as they begin to store their own energy.”

Andrew is studying his face carefully, and after a moment Abram blinks in realization. “I’m the connection.”

“If you want to be, but you shouldn’t agree to it without knowing the costs.”

Abram is about to shake his head and agree to it anyway, he doesn’t care about how it’ll affect him if it helps Andrew, but at the look on Andrew’s face he pauses. “What costs?”

“It will require the runes to be written in your blood, and in turn will connect you to the temple.”

“I’ll do it,” Abram says immediately. “If that’s all.”

Andrew stares at him in frustration. “You didn’t think about it.”

“I did,” Abram insists. “And I decided I want to.”

“There are other ways-”

“But this is the easiest right?” Abram asks. After a moment Andrew nods. “Then let's start, we’re wasting time.”

Abram brushes past Andrew to stand in front of their tree. They had decided to place the first rune here, where it began.

“Do you have a dagger?” Abram asks, and suppresses a shiver at the thought of having to use one on himself, he’d do it for Andrew, even if he hated the things.

Andrew shakes his head, then pulls an oddly shaped rock from one of his pockets. It is the size of a closed fist, pitch black, and flat along one edge while the rest is carved in patterns of swirls. Abram takes it carefully; the flat edge is incredibly sharp. “For ritualistic bloodletting?” Abram hazards a guess.

Andrew rolls his eyes. “Now I guess it is.”

Abram gave him a small smile and raised the blade. “Any place in particular?”

Covering Abram’s hand Andrew directs the blade to one of Abram’s fingers. “You only need to draw enough to write the rune.”

Abram nods then swiftly cuts his finger, a drop of blood starts pooling slowly at its tip. Andrew helps him draw out the rune they had created together, and after they’re done, they step back to watch as the blood slowly seeps into the tree leaving behind a rune that shimmers a silvery light.

Andrew steps in front of Abram a hand coming up to cup his cheek, it’s cold but Abram doesn’t mind. “Are you alright?”

Abram nods slowly, the cut stings and he can feel magic coursing through his being, but it is more exhilarating than anything else. Finely they’re doing something, finely he can help Andrew. “Yes.”

Wind rustles the branches overhead when Andrew looks back at the run, his eyes brightening as the crescents within them expand to look like half discs. “Five more to go.”

“Five more to go,” Abram repeats moth twisting into a sharp smile, “and then we wait.”

“And then we wait.” Andrew’s lips twitch up into a fleeting smile that is gone a second later, and warmth blooms in Abram’s heart. They can do this.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a little late, life drama happened....  
> thanks for reading/kudoing/commenting!

Months pass quickly and spring swiftly morphs into summer, bringing with it both blistering heat during the day, and rolling thunderstorms at night. Abram’s father unfortunately returns from the capitol, and just like that the slight peace that planted itself in his house is ripped up by its roots. It is back to walking on eggshells, and long days suffering through his father’s lessons. The man makes him do more now that he’s older, and Abram slowly starts to feel himself grow numb to the pain he inflicts on others. He doesn’t like it much, but there’s nothing he can do. In some ways it’s better like this. He can distance himself. It makes it easier.

He makes less mistakes, though when he does his father’s punishments are as severe as ever.

Abram is starting to have trouble hiding the scars beneath his clothing. It angers Andrew, but they’re still in the waiting phase of their plan. Neither of them can do much of anything before the seal is cracked, so they focus on that. 

It’s exceptionally dark tonight, the stars and moon covered in a thick layer of clouds that rumble deeply every few seconds as lightning streaks across the sky. It is the only thing that lights up their surroundings, the flashes illuminating the forest then sending it back into darkness moments later. Andrew’s eyes are trained on the clouds, as dark as the shadows surrounding them.

“Why are your eyes like that?” Abram asks abruptly. It’s been bothering him. He’s seen many spirits by now, but none of them are like Andrew, and though Andrew says they exist Abram is starting to doubt.

Andrew turns to face him and blinks, the blackness of his eyes disappears for a second, replaced by two bright moons, then returns. “Like what?”

“Like the void, sometimes they have moons that wax and wane within them.” Abram tilts his head to get a better look at Andrew and let’s go of his hand, reaching up to place a finger on the boy’s cheek. Andrew is cold under his touch. For a second Andrew’s eyes flutter shut, and he releases a breath. Abram goes on, “is it because of the god you worshiped?”

“I never worshiped any god,” Andrew states blankly and pulls away from Abram’s hand.

“But you were a disciple of this temple.” Abrams hand drops back to the ground.

“I lived here.”

“That’s all?” Abram questions.

The silence that comes next seems to eat away at the world around them before Andrew sighs and slumps beside him. “How much do you know about the deity that controlled this temple?”

“He’s of the moon.”

“And?”

“He’s dead?”

Andrew looks at him, and Abram gets the feeling Andrew might be a bit disappointed. “How much do you know about the pantheon he belonged to?”

“There was a pantheon?”

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “Has humanity grown even more ignorant since I’ve been dead?

“Probably,” Abram says truthfully. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Everything has two sides to it, Abram. The sun and moon, stars and sky, earth and sea, life and death, and so on. The pantheon is large, and its number of disciples larger. The temples to these gods drew worshipers and their families, but not everyone who lived at them were disciples. Some were just villagers.”

“You don’t seem like just a villager, Andrew.”

Andrew shoot him a look. “I wasn’t a disciple.”

“If you insist.”

“This temple in particular drew people from all over, not only disciples but refugees. It was a place of protection at a time when people needed it.” It’s said quietly, and Abram understands the implication. Andrew was one who sought this protection, yet he met his death here.

“Were the temples of the other gods similar?” Abram asks, curious, he’s not well versed in mythos, present or past. His family wasn’t the sort to care about gods, dead or alive.

“Were they sanctuaries?” Abram nods, and Andrew sighs. “Somewhat, but the others were associated with different aspects, only the moon was truly associated with protection. So, while the other temples had disciples who lived at them, they were never as many, and the people were less… diverse.”

“‘I’m guessing they didn’t get many refugees,” Abram says.

Andrew shakes his head. “Not when they had the choice to come here instead.”

“Were the other temples destroyed as well?”

Andrew freezes as thunder splits the sky and turns to look at Abram. “...I don’t know.”

It’s said quietly, but as Abram looks into Andrew’s face there’s a well of emotion hidden behind the mask of indifference he usually wears. The sudden cracks in the other boy’s facade startle Abram, and the emotions that leak through even more so. Andrew’s afraid. What did he say to make Andrew afraid?

Abram wants to reach out the boy, but he doesn’t know how.

Andrew lowers his eyes and clenches his fists in the fabric of his pants. “They shouldn’t have been. The others hadn’t done anything. They shouldn’t have been killed too.”

Abram wonders what had happened here, not for the first time, and probably not for the last. “The only god I’ve heard stories of dying is the god of the moon. The others might even still be worshiped.”

His family wasn’t the sort to care about gods, dead or alive, but his mother sometimes tells him stories of her homeland, and the places she’s traveled. This forest is the only place to have ever tasted the blood of a deity that he knows of. Abram thinks there would be more stories if multiple gods had died.

Andrew forcefully unclenches his fists and takes a breath. “.... good.”

“I can check my family’s library and see if there’s more information.” Anything to get Andrew to stop looking like that. Abram usually didn’t go in there, not seeing the need to, or having the time to with how long he spends under his father's tutelage each day. It is an extensive collection of books and scrolls, however, and Abram is sure there’s something in there on the matter.

Something eases in Andrew’s expression, and Abram finally bridges the gap and presses the side of his hand against Andrew’s. The boy links a finger over his, and turns his head back towards the sky

Lighting arches overhead, but Abram isn’t able to look away from Andrew, his eyes stuck on the way Andrew slowly forces his mask back over his face. He tries not to feel disappointed. Neither Andrew or Abram are good with feelings, but he’s fine with that. They get by.

Abram presses his shoulder into Andrew’s side and tries not to think about dead gods, destroyed temples, and what that look on Andrew’s face could mean.

It is only after heading home that Abram realizes Andrew never answered his question.

* * *

It turns out Andrew devours books like he apparently devours lesser spirits, and Abram finds himself making his weekly treks up to their temple weighed down by scrolls and books to replace the ones Andrew has finished. The boy has already reassured himself of the other gods survival weeks ago, from the histories and stories Abram’s family has collected it seems only the moon god was killed. Abram’s thoughts tend to linger on the look of relief that had crossed Andrew’s face at that fact. How personal this all seems for him. He wonders if Andrew knew disciples from the other temples, or if it is something else.

Though he’d found his answer, Andrew had asked Abram to keep bringing him books, not really caring what they’re about. So, Abram does, trying to get Andrew caught up on all that has happened since he died.

Andrew’s relatively unimpressed with it all, which amuses Abram to no end.

“Humans never change,” Andrew says from where he lays across a fallen pillar, holding a book over his head with his nose scrunched up in disgust. The days are growing shorter and colder again which means Abram gets a front row seat to an increasingly crabby Andrew. “Always creating unnecessary drama.”

“You say that like you’re not one of those dramatic humans.” Abram rolls his eyes and swings his legs about, enjoying the view he has of the stars. The chilly weather has left the skies uncommonly clear, allowing them to shine brighter than normal.

Andrew shoots him a glare, eyes bright and silver. “I’m a spirit.”

“A dramatic one.”

Andrew huffs, and they fall back into silence.

It doesn’t last long as an ear-splitting screech pierces the air. Andrew jolts up into a sitting position and Abram freezes, eyes searching frantically for whatever made that noise in the forest surrounding them. A second screech sounds, and Andrew is on his feet, Abram seconds behind him. The sounds are coming from farther into the temple, and are eerily inhuman in nature, sounding more like monstrous roars. With hardly a glance at one another they both begin running towards the source of the sound, the ruins of the temple flying by in a blur.

Abram is faster than Andrew, so he sees it fist, and comes to an abrupt halt. There are two winged lions fighting in the field in front of them, and there’s  _ no _ way Abram’s getting between that. Andrew crashes into his back sending them both tumbling gracelessly to the ground, a tangled heap of limbs.  A strangled yelp escapes Abram’s mouth as his cheek slams into the gravel beneath them. Andrew grumbles something incoherent and irritated from above him.

The lions look over to them and Abram feels his heart freeze in fear. “Andrew…”

Andrew’s weight shifts as he rolls off of Abram. “Temple guardians,” is all he says.

“Why haven’t I noticed lions here before?” Abram asks, voice a whisper as he turns to Andrew. Where had these guardians been this entire time?

A shrug is all he gets in return. “They don’t belong to this temple.”

The lions seem to lose interest in them, and go back to screeching at each other, golden wings flapping aggressively through the air. They aren’t fighting per say, there are no claws drawn and no blood has been shed, but they certainly don’t seem happy with one another.

“What do you mean by that?”

“They’re lions.” Andrew says, as if that explains anything. At Abram’s uncomprehending look he sighs. “Lions belong to the sun god, they’re his temple’s guardians.”

“So, what are they doing here?”

“Good question.” Andrew stands slowly, picking a rock on his way up. Abram watches in silent horror as Andrew weighs the rock in his hand then throws it at the arguing lions. Abram resigns himself to the fact that he’s going to get eaten as the rock smacks the leftmost lion in the nose. It’s not the worst way to die, Abram supposes, at least his father isn’t involved.

The lions hiss and flinch back, turning once again to the two boys and raising their hackles.

“Stop it,” Andrew says calmly.

The lions growl.

Abram gets to his feet, not really wanting to die while lying down.

“I threw it because you to wouldn’t shut up,” Andrew says seemingly to no one.

The right lion yowls at him.

Abram looks between Andrew and the lions disbelieving. “Are you talking to them?”

Andrew shoots him a look, and the lions turn to him cocking their heads curiously in unison.

“That’s Abram.” Andrew gestures in his direction. “Ignore him.”

The lions do exactly the opposite, cautiously coming forward and winding their lithe muscular bodies between Andrew and Abram, blinking up at the boys with wide golden eyes. A golden wing brushes against Abram’s shoulder, infinitely softer than he ever expected. He forgets his fear in the face of the absurdity of the situation. Winged lions that Andrew could apparently talk to….

“How can you understand them?”

Andrew’s eyes flash bright but he doesn’t answer, then he reaches over and brushes a hand over a fluffy gold ear. “What are you two doing here?”

One of the lions looks over to him and makes a sound that would be considered a meow if it didn’t come from a lion. Andrew’s lips twitch downward. “What do you mean you’re stuck?”

Abram’s eyes widen. “They got trapped behind the seal?”

The lion closest to Abram headbutts him in the stomach, a low rumble coming from its throat. Abram thinks he should be scared of them, the rational part of his brain wants to be, but it seems unable to convince the rest of him. “They’re not lesser spirits, so maybe they can’t get back through.”

“They’re divine beings, that must be why they’re stuck.” Andrew pats the lion in front of him on the head. “What idiots, you should have known better.” The lion leans into his side.

“We can’t break the seal, yet,” Abram says, gently running his hand through golden fur. The lion looks up at him and blinks slowly in understanding. Abram has never interacted with a divine creature before and it’s an odd experience. The intelligence behind those eyes is startlingly sharp.

“They’re fine with staying here for now,” Andrew says quietly.

“You better explain what’s going on.”

Andrew turns to stare at him and says nothing.

Abram narrows his eyes into a glare then looks back to the lions. “I guess I’m going to have to share you now.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Abram.”

Abram sighs, then shakes his head and puts his frustration to the back of his mind. “Well, I’ve always wanted a cat.”

Andrew snorts out a laugh that rings through the night like bells, and there’s no way Abram can be angry at the boy after hearing a sound as beautiful as that.

* * *

“Now you don’t have an excuse to be so grumpy in the cold,” Abram says, looking over to where Andrew is splayed out on the ground beside him, their two are lions curled over him in a warm protective blanket as the cold winds of winter twirl frost around them. A wing sits across Abrams lap and he runs a careful hand through it admiringly. The lion yawns and plops its head on Abram’s leg.

Andrew glares up at him. “I’m not cold.”

“Sure Andrew.” Abram reaches over and pulls a loose feather out of the other boy’s hair.

He places it on the tip of Andrew’s nose and Andrew blows it away with a huff. “I hate you.”

“Mm hmm,” Abram hums and lowers himself to lie beside the boy. One lion shifting its weight to lay across Andrew’s stomach while the other gets up and moves to lay across the boys’ legs. Its weight is warm and pleasant, thick fur shielding Abram from the wind. Abram reaches for Andrew’s hand and curls his fingers around it. “Sure Andrew.”

Andrew stares at him, an unreadable look on his face. After a moment he sighs, closes his eyes, and shifts his hand so their fingers are interlocked together, Abram’s rune of protection shining faintly in the moonlight where it rests above Andrew’s hand. Abram closes his eyes as well, mind wandering to the questions he holds close to his heart. Maybe if Abram finds the right words Andrew will finally answer some of them, but he still doesn’t know how to ask. Abram sighs and lets the thought slip away, allowing himself to relax into Andrew’s warmth.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter wooooooo  
> thanks for reading/kudoing/commenting!  
> ignore that the chapter length just increased again this was supposed to be short.....

“We can't just keep calling them 'the lions’,” Abram says, patting one of the lions on the head. It's been long enough now that he's able to tell them apart, this one's ears are tipped in brown, and there's a few brown stripes lining its golden cheeks. The other one is smaller, its golden fur lighter on the bottom of its stomach and around its eyes.

The air around them smells of fresh blooms, and new growth. Spring is slowly morphing into summer, and the magic the land holds is changing with it. The magic of the temple is changing too, Abram isn’t sure how, bit he can feel it. It’s less like a difference in the air, and more like a shift in the way the world looks and in how the temple exists within it.

“They're lions,” Andrew responds. “What else are we supposed to call them?”

“Their names?”

“They don’t have names,” Andrew says it like it’s something obvious, and not new information.

“Is that true?” Abram asks the lion next to him.

The lion rumble and rubs its cheek against his arm.

“Their god didn’t see the point in naming them,” Andrew translates voice bored.

“The sun god was too lazy to name them?” Abram asks. Andrew nods absently, eyes trained on the book in his lap. “Huh, he sounds a bit like you.”

Andrew looks up at him with a glare. “We’re nothing alike.”

“You sound sure of that, Andrew,” Abram teases.

“I am.”

That’s surprising. “Have you met him before?”

Andrew hesitates for a long moment his eyes going to look somewhere over Abram’s shoulder. “...yes.”

Abram lets that statement sink in. Andrew’s interacted with a god before, the god of the sun in particular, and has interacted with the god often enough to speak so familiarly about him. Abram doesn’t know what to make of it. “Did you know the god of this temple as well?”

Andrew’s silence is somehow even longer than his last, and Abram tries to calm his racing thoughts, his imagination running wild while Andrew seems to mull over his words. “Yes….”

“How?”

Andrew opens his mouth, then closes it a second later. Abram stares at the boy and waits, the two lions look between them curiously. Andrew doesn’t know how to answer, that much becomes obvious when the silence hits the three-minute mark. Neither boy has looked away from the other, and Abram finds a well of tremulous emotions in Andrew’s eyes. As if he wants to explain, but it’s all too much. Abram understands, somewhat. At least he understands wanting to tell someone the truth, but not having words. Their positions were switched not too long ago. This new information, however, didn’t fit with what Abram had thought he knew of Andrew. ‘Just a refugee’, Andrew had really let him believe that.

“Andrew,” Abram says quietly. “Who  _ are  _ you.”

“Who are  _ you, _ ” Andrew snaps back, hackles raised.

Abram stares in confoundment at the boy in front of him. “I’m just Abram.”

“And I’m just Andrew,” Andrew says, defensively folding his arms over his chest.

“Were you always, though?” Abram asks.

Andrew groans and turns away from him, running a thin hand through his blond hair. “We are never who we once were, neither of us.” 

“That’s not an explanation,” Abram deadpans.

Andrew looks back over his shoulder at Abram. “It’s all I have.”

If only that made sense.

Abram nods, not meeting Andrew’s eyes. He shouldn’t have asked. Andrew runs a hand over the worn stone of some long-forgotten wall and leans against it, facing Abram once again. The smaller lion comes up to his side and flops down at his feet. “I didn’t lie to you.”

“You didn’t?” Abram wants to believe him, he really does.

“My name is Andrew, I’ve always been Andrew.” He says carefully. Abram meets his steady gaze. “And I did come here for refuge.”

“And you were never a disciple?” Abram asks. “How did you ever speak to any of the gods then?”

“I wasn’t, technically. It was different back then, gods weren’t so… untouchable. They were closer to the people. We interacted constantly.”

“I can’t imagine.”

Andrew’s hand stills. “I think you can.”

Abram rolls his eyes and lets the subject drop. “They still need names, you know.”

Andrew quirks an eyebrow in confusion.

“The lions.”

Looking down Andrew nudges the sleeping cat with his foot. “Do they?”

“Yes,” Abram answers solemnly.

Andrew sighs in resignation. “Then we need to name them something stupid.”

“Why?” Abram fights down a smile, Andrew says it so seriously.

“Because the sun god would hate it.”

Abram nods slowly in understanding. “This is the moon god’s temple and they live here now, they’re ours.”

“Exactly.”

“We should name them after the moon then,” Abram says, and Andrew nods. He points to the smaller lion at Andrew’s feet “Wane,” then turns to the lion at his side, “and Wax.”

Andrew takes a moment to look between the two contemplatively. “He would absolutely hate those names.”

“So, they’re good?”

“Yes.”

“What do the lions think?”

Wax looks up at him and blinks slowly, while Wane just yawns.

“They don’t seem to care much,” Andrew tells him.

Abram pets the lion next to him getting a content rumble in return. “Then those are their names.”

“Yes,” Andrew agrees. “They are.”

* * *

A question occurs to Abram as he lays in a thick patch of summer grass, nursing the bruises his father gave him earlier that day during training, with his head pillowed in Andrew’s lap. He’s spinning a web of fire in his hands, weaving it into intricate patterns then letting it dissolve back into nothing a moment later. Andrew looks like his head is being haloed by the vast expanses of the milky way, his pale gold hair seeming to entrap the stars within it.  “What happened to the guardians of this temple?”

Andrew’s eyes are full moon bright when he looks down at Abram, reflective of their neighbor shining over them from the sky. He raises his eyebrows as their lions frolic in the field behind them. “Maybe they’re still here.”

Abram mimics his expression. “Seriously, Andrew?”

Rolling his eyes Andrew raises his hand and cups the side of Abram’s face, saying slowly, “the temple was destroyed Abram, guardians don’t exist when there’s nothing to guard.”

“But you’re here,” Abram points out, “and you’re not nothing.”

“I’m  _ dead _ .”

Andrew keeps saying that, but Abram isn’t really sure if he knows what the word means anymore. Death seems more complicated than he originally thought. “That doesn’t mean you’re nothing.”

“The guardians won’t manifest for dead things. This temple isn’t alive, it’s people are gone, there’s nothing left to guard.” Andrew trails his fingers down Abram’s jaw and to his neck tapping along with the heartbeat he finds there.

“I don’t believe that, there’s still you.”

Andrew presses down harder on Abram’s neck. “You’re the one who needs protection here, not me.”

Abram reaches up and links his finger under Andrew’s. “You’re never not going to be frustrating, are you Andrew?”

“You’re not one to speak.”

“So, there aren’t any guardians.”

“Right.”

“But what were they?” Abram asks.

“Guess.”

Abram narrows his eyes at the boy. “Not lions.”

He swears Andrew’s lips fall into a quick smirk. “Not lions.”

Abram pulls his amulet from the folds of his shirt and brings it up to eye level, squinting at the intricate designs it holds to see if they tell him anything. He looks past it to Andrew’s face, it covers the lower portion, making the boy look as if he is frowning. Abram flips the amulet around, making it look like Andrew’s smiling.

Andrew pushes the amulet back against Abram’s chest. “You really don’t know anything about the gods.”

It’s not a question so Abram doesn’t answer, which is probably answer enough.

“Wolves,” Andrew deadpans, and shakes his head. “They were wolves.”

“You don’t seem like a dog person, Andrew.”

“I’m people person either, yet you’re here.”

“I’m here.”

They’re silent as they watch each other. The moon lingers low in the treetops, and Abram knows it’s late. He needs to leave, but he really  _ really _ doesn’t want to.

“The fall equinox,” Andrew whispers.

“What?” Abram blinks.

“The fall equinox, that’s when we’ll start the next step to crack the seal.” Andrew pinwheels their conversation in another direction without a second thought.

All Abram can do is stare at him blankly as his mind scrambles to keep up. “It’s time?”

Andrew nods. “It’s time.”

* * *

Fall seems to take ages to grace the land. Abram’s days are filled with blood, his father's heavy-handed punishments, and a sinking feeling in his gut whenever he thinks about his future. His father keeps talking about him needing more training, needing a different teacher. Abram doesn’t know what he means by that. His father’s lessons only increase in intensity, and Abram is able to take apart a person as easily as he’s able to climb stairs these days. Wielding a knife is like reading a book. He hates it, but he waits till it’s over each day, then goes to Andrew’s temple each night to forget.

The equinox doesn’t come soon enough.

Andrew is waiting for him under their tree when he arrives on the night of the fall equinox, Wane and Wax flanking him, and a towering white temple behind him. Abram swears he sees shadows dancing under the moonlight within its wall and hears the faint sounds of laughter permeating the air.  It’s Abram’s fifth equinox here, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this

Abram grins and takes the final step across the seal.

“Took you long enough,” Andrew drawls, lazily running a hand over Wane’s head.

“Not like you had anything better to do,” Abram says, stopping in front of the boy. At this angle he’s slightly taller than Abram, but Abram would never tell Andrew that. “Hello, Andrew.”

“Hello, Abram.” Andrew pushes himself off the tree and turns towards the temple. “Let’s go.”

Andrew leads him through the halls of the temple without a second glance. Wane and Wax staying plastered to his side, the two lions seeming as undisturbed by the new face the temple has taken as Andrew is. Abram supposes it’s because the temple resembles the one they’re from now, more than it does when it looks like a pile of ruins.

There is something more substantial about the temple now, though, than previous equinoxes. It might have something to do with the runes he and Andrew made. They’ve been gathering magic for over a year now.

Andrew stops in front of one of those runes, the one farthest from their tree, and the last one they had drawn. It’s beside a bubbling stream, on the side of what once had been a great statue depicting the moon god. It usually looked more like a crumpled pile of stones, but tonight it towered over the trees; a cloaked figure with head held high, reaching desperately for the stars above it. 

Turning to him Andrew holds out a piece of chalk, and Abram takes it begrudgingly. “What is this for?”

Andrew looks back to the rune. “The next step is making a sigil that encompasses the temple, connecting all the runes.”

“Okay, what does the sigil look like?”

“Whatever it wants to, you’ll know it when you draw it,” Andrew waves a hand around, face blank.

“That makes no sense,” Abram points out.

“You make no sense.”

“Andrew.”

He taps at the rune not taking his eyes off of Abram, it bursts into a bright silver mixing with the light coming from the temple to illuminate the forest around them. Wane and Wax take a step back, letting out a small hiss as they do so. “This magic is ours now, listen to it and it will guide you.”

Abram looks uncertainty down to the chalk in his hand. “Alright.”

“You start at the end, and I’ll start at the beginning. We’ll meet in the middle.” Andrew says.

“Just like that?” Abram asks.”

“Just like that.” Andrew nods. “We have until the first snow falls.”

And in a flash of moonlight Andrew’s gone, leaving Abram alone with the two lions. “Well, he’s excited.”

Wax comes over and licks his hand with a rough tongue. “Yes, I know, better get started.”

Abram closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and listens to the magic.

Its song sings loudly in his mind.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! I kinda wanna just say sorry in advance....  
> Thanks for reading/kudoing/commenting!

They finish before the first snow falls, barely. The intricate chalk markings they make swirl and wind around the temple in patterns that Abram finds oddly nostalgic. He knows it’s his hand that is helping make the complex sigil, but he doesn’t understand how he  _ knows _ what to draw. The magic flows through him, and he’s able to envision how the delicate lines he’s drawing interweave into something greater, something powerful. It startles Abram, how easy he finds it.

It feels like writing in a language he doesn’t remember learning, but can also never forget.

And Abram doesn’t understand, but then again, maybe he does.

Somewhere along the line he recognizes that he’s not just drawing random patterns of magic, that there is meaning within the shapes he creates. They tell stories of the stars, and battles won, of legends long lost, and people long gone. Abram discovers he knows these stories, or at least his soul does.

It’s a disorienting realization, one Abram finds himself lingering on as he spends his nights helping magic carve its way into stone.

The markings Andrew makes are similar, yet different. The magic within them sings strongly of the moon, and Abram really shouldn’t have expected anything else. It is part of Andrew’s essence, separating Andrew from the moon’s magic is impossible, so of course his part of the sigil weeps of it.

They don’t see much of each other in the time they spend constructing the sigil. Their main form of communication is through Wane and Wax, who travel back and forth between the two boys as they see fit. Andrew might be the only one of them that can understand lion, but Abram thinks he’s starting to, in a roundabout way. He doesn't know exactly what they say to him, but he gets most of it.

As Andrew had said, they meet in the middle of the temple, which happens to be an amphitheater overgrown with vines and the dying remnants of wildflowers. Their respective halves of the sigil come together with ease, linking to create a whole greater than its parts could ever be on their own.

Andrew and Abram face each other with heads bowed, staring down at their completed sigil. Abram can feel himself trembling, but he doesn’t understand why. A wave of exhaustion washes over him, and the chalk falls from his hand, shattering on the ground.

“Oh.” He blinks down at it.

“We’re done,” Andrew says a little breathlessly.

Abram looks up at him to find the other boy gazing back. Tonight, his eyes are completely void of the moon, an unknowable blackness that seems to go on for eternity taking place of the usual light. “What now?”

“We have to activate the sigil, and open its channels so magic can begin flowing freely through it,” Andrew explains simply.

“How?”

Andrew reaches into a pocket, and pulls out the carved stone blade from before.

Abram sighs. “Why do these things always require blood?”

“It’s something powerful, something sacred, but not all of it holds magic. Only some people’s.” Andrew says bluntly. “Others aren’t so unfortunate.”

“Ouch.” Abram tilts his head. “How did you know I’d be able to do magic, then?”

“Because I know you, Abram.”

Abram’s sure there’s more to those words than Andrew will ever admit. It’s not just about the two years they’ve spent together, it’s something more deep set than that. It’s like something’s there at the edge of Abram’s recollection, but when he tries to reach for it slips through his fingers. He thinks it’s a memory. Or, perhaps it’s the memory of a memory that should be there but isn’t.

Abram’s certain of one thing though, he knows Andrew too.

Overhead the clouds move with the wind, covering the moon. Suddenly it is very dark, and a chill winds its way up Abram’s spine. He’s not sure where Wane and Wax have run of to.

“You do,” Abram whispers, he feels like if he speaks louder something will break, and he wants to prevent that for as long as he can. “So, I just need to give a little blood for the sigil again?”

“No,” Andrew says, just as quietly. “This time it doesn’t need your blood.”

Abram frowns. “Whose else…” He catches Andrew’s eyes. “Can spirits even bleed?”

There is a long second of silence. “No.”

Abram isn’t surprised.

Andrew presses the dull end of the blade into the palm of Abram’s hand. “I want you to do this.”

“Are you sure?” Abram double checks as his hand wraps around the blade.

Andrew’s face is blank as he regards Abram, it’s almost like he’s seeing through Abram. “Yes.”

He lets go of the blade and holds out his hand. Palm facing the sky Andrew yanks one of his long sleeves up with force. The moon chooses that moment to make a reappearance, and Abram gapes. Thin white scars carve their way over Andrew’s wrists and up his forearms. Abram knows the marks a knife leaves when he sees them. “Andrew…”

“It’s nothing.”

Anger wells up from the pit of Abram’s soul. “No, it’s not.”

Andrew’s jaw clenches for a second, and he takes a step forward. “If you won't do it then I will.”

“Tell me what happened.” Abram tucks the blade into a pocket and takes a step back.

“You’re impossible,” Andrew huffs.

“Tell me.”

“My blood is more powerful than most.” Andrew takes another step forward. “Sometimes that power needs to be used. Give me the blade.”

“No.”

“Abram.”

“Andrew.”

They glare at each other. Andrew is the first to break their stand still, closing his eyes and looking away. “If we stop now the seal will stay.”

Abram knows this, that doesn’t mean he has to like it, though. “Fine, but I’m doing it with you.”

A crease appears between Andrew’s brows. “The sigil doesn't require your blood.”

Abram folds his arms over his chest. “To bad, it’s getting it anyway.”

Andrew looks like he’s about to protest, but Abram pulls the blade out again. “Do you want to crack the seal or not?” Andrew silently stares at him, and Abram doesn’t know what he’s thinking, but whatever it is Andrew’s shoulders fall. “You’re not alone anymore, we can do this together.”

“Impossible,” Andrew mutters a second time. Once again, he holds out his hand, palm up. “Fine but draw mine first.”

Abram narrows his eyes. “If you try to do this without me you won’t like the outcome.”

Andrew sighs. “Sure, Abram.”

Raising the blade, Abram presses it into the center of Andrew’s palm. Practicality wise, it’s not the best place to draw blood from, Abram knows, but he supposes there might be some sort of symbolism in it he’s missing. Magic has a lot to do with rituals and symbols, he’s learned.

The boy’s palm slices open under Abram’s hand, and blood begins to pool at its center. Abram’s unable to look away, instead of a sickly crimson Andrew’s blood shines a bright silver in the moonlit night.

“Give me the blade.” Andrew reaches for the dark stone crescent with his other hand, and Abram gives it over easily, turning his hand over so his palm is facing upward.

Andrew’s eyes are locked on his as he cuts into Abram’s skin, his warm blood trickling out, and beginning to cool in the night air. “What next?”

Andrew then kneels carefully, making sure none of his blood spills on the ground, and Abram follows suit. The center of the sigil is between them, and at this angle Abram can’t tell were his half ends and Andrew’s begins.

Andrew gestures to his hand. “Give me that.”

Abram raises an eyebrow, but moves his hand so it’s over the sigil trying not to let his blood spill. In a swift move Andrew twines their finders and presses their bloodied palms together. Silver and crimson mix, and a rivulet of blood escapes from their grasp, a single drop landing in the middle of the sigil.

Abram gasps as a strong wave of magic manifests, pushing itself outward with an inaudible pop. It’s song flowing loudly between the two boys in the next second. Abram looks up at Andrew’s face, and studies it as Andrew keeps his eyes trained downward. It’s barely noticeable, but Abram can tell the boy in front of him has aged over the years along with Abram. He wonders if Andrew has realized.

Andrew moves their hands, so their palms are pressing into the ground, fingers still linked. “Do you feel that?”

And Abram does, there’s a thump under his fingers, like a far-off heartbeat. “What is it?”

“The temple, it’s waking up.”

“Like you did.”

Andrew looks up at him, eyes a bright silver once again. “Like I did, because of you.”

They sit together in silence for a few minutes before Andrew finally untwines their hands. Abram sighs, missing the contact. Andrew’s magic leaves with the absence of his touch, and Abram is left feeling oddly hollow, like he’d found something after a long time searching, only to have it taken away again in the next second. The heartbeat of the temple still sounds distantly in the back of his mind now, but it’s different without Andrew there.

A warm nose presses into the back of his head a moment later, and Abram flinches, swinging around to find Wax standing over him. The lion leans down, licking the crown of Abram’s head.

Wane appears at Andrew’s side, and flops over next to him. He looks down at the cat. “Lazy.”

“You two left us to do all the hard work,” Abram says, trying to smooth his hair out of the tangle Wax has made it with his uninjured hand. Wax simply yawns at him. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Let me heal that,” Andrew gestures at Abram’s hand.

It takes only a touch to heal it. “What about you?”

“Watch.” Andrew shows him his palm, and Abram watches as the skin knits itself back together.

“Huh.”

Andrew flops back next to Wane, and says to the stars. “We’ll let the magic settle into the new channels we made, but after it does, we can try cracking the seal.”

Abram follows his eyes to the sky and watches the moon. “And then we can leave.”

“Yes,” Andrew responds.

* * *

Of course, everything decides to fall apart soon after that. Fate has never been kind to Abram, and it certainly doesn’t make an exception now, even with Andrew around. Abram’s mother decides to run a week after he turns twelve, and she doesn’t take Abram with her.

She leaves in the middle of the night, breaking into their treasury, and steals a large sum of gold. Then she vanishes without a trace, almost as if she had never been there at all.

His father is furious, and he takes out that rage on Abram. The first night she’s gone he brings Abram to the basement room where they usually have their lessons, but this time it’s Abram he straps to the table and tests his blades on, carving deep lines that overlap to the point that Abram doesn’t think he’ll have any skin left by the end of it. When he isn’t using knives, his father takes heated staves of metal, and presses them into Abram’s flesh until it sizzles and pops.

Luckily Abram blacks out for the worst of it, but what he can remember isn’t pleasant.

His father lets him go a few agonizingly long days later, dragging him back to his room and throwing him carelessly to the floor. Abram blinks up at him through the tears that involuntarily drip from his eyes. The cold fury that is on his father’s face as he looks down at Abram is leagues better than the smile he wore while cutting Abram open.

“If you run off before the Moriyamas come to get you I’ll know exactly where you are,” his father says, then slams the door to his room shut. There is a click as his father locks it, trapping Abram in his small room.

The words the man said slowly seep into Abram’s consciousness, settling there like snow. They send a jolt of fear up his spine when Abram finally register's their meaning.

His father is sending him away.

His father knows about the temple.

He has to tell Andrew.

With that thought Abram hauls himself painstakingly off the ground, and limps his way towards the window. Somehow Abram’s father still hasn’t realized he can get out this way, which Abram is grateful for. The drop from his window to the ground is long, if he fell, he’d probably die, but he still begins the climb downwards. It’s much harder than normal, the combination of pain and continued blood loss from open wounds making it so Abram feels light and fuzzy. It’s like he’s controlling his body with puppet strings, but eventually he reaches the ground.

He doesn’t remember the walk to the temple, one moment he’s starting off into the woods and the next he’s stumbling amongst the ruins. The decaying white stone comforting in a way Abram has never experienced before.

His legs collapse under him the next second, and his vision blacks out.

When he opens his eyes again there’s Andrew leaning over him, pressing a cold hand into his chest. The pain is gone replaced by a sluggish numbness. Something soft and warm lies against his right side, and Abram looks over to find Wane curled up against him, golden eyes glowing brightly. Wax sits not too far behind her, eyes directed to the forest around them, there are quiet growls coming from her throat whenever the wind makes a noise.

“What happened?” Andrew asks, voice a steady monotone, but his shoulders are trembling.

“Do you think we can try cracking the seal now?” Abram doesn’t know how to put it all into words, is afraid if he does what happened will become real.

Andrew begins shaking his head. “You’re too weak.”

And Abram is disappointed, but not surprised, he can’t even feel the magic that usually sings so loudly. He wonders if something might have been permanently broken within him.

Andrew raises his hands and traces gentle fingers under Abram’s eyes. “My rune didn’t work.”

“It has worked more times then you know,” Abram admits. Wane makes something close to a whine next to his ear. Abram moves his arm and gently pats her on the nose.

“Not when it mattered.”

“You don’t get to decide when it matters, Andrew.”

Andrew stares at him for a long moment, eyes swimming in silver light. “What happened Abram?”

“My mom left,” Abram tells him.

“She left you there alone with him,” Andrew says roughly.

“Yes.”

Andrew takes a shaky breath then says something in a lilting language Abram doesn’t understand. “Andrew, I don’t...   

Andrew bends down and presses his forehead against Abram’s, and Abrams eyes flutter shut at the comforting pressure. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything. “Abram wouldn’t have Andrew blaming himself for this.

“I know,” Andrew say vehemently. “I couldn’t.”

“Andrew…” Abram open’s his eyes, and Andrew is  _ so _ close. “This wasn’t you.”

“When I get out of here…”

“You’ll help me kill my father.” The thought makes Abram smile.

“Yes, “Andrew breaths, and then drops to Abram’s unoccupied side.

Abram turns his head, not wanting to look away from Andrew. Andrew gazes back. They stay like that for a while. One moon wanders the sky high above Abram, while the other one rests protectively to Abram’s left. Their lions patrol around them, and Abram knows her is safe for what feels like the first time in too long.

It can’t last, though.

“It’s getting late.”

Andrew looks to him, frowning. “You’re not leaving.”

“I have to.”

“Says who?”

“My father knows I come here,” Abram says pulling himself reluctantly from Andrew. “If he finds out I’m here he’ll raze this forest till there’s nothing left but ash.”

Andrew doesn’t say anything to that, but he doesn’t stop Abram when he gets to his feet either. Abram’s skin is still painful and tight in places, but there is no open cuts and the burns are now just angry red splotches. “We need to crack the seal soon.”

“Tomorrow,” Andrew says, and stands as well. “Come back tomorrow and we’ll try then, make sure to get some rest.”

Abram nods. “Tomorrow, then.”

Andrew grabs his hand before he can leave. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

“I promise, Andrew,” and Abram means it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I should actually be apologizing for this chapter....  
> Thanks for reading/commenting/kudoing! we're getting towards the end now!

Maybe Abram had been too hopeful, maybe he’d misjudged how much time he had, maybe he’d never had any time in the first place. Whatever it is, fate turns a blind eye to Abram’s wants, and tomorrow never comes for him and Andrew. 

Abram climbs up the vined terraces to his room only to find his father sitting on the edge of his bed, a long silver dagger sitting delicately on his lap. Abram stares at him, breath frozen in his throat, and his back to the window. He feels caught under his father’s sharp gaze, and there is a long moment of silence as two sets of ice blue eyes watch each other.

His father stands up, and Abram has a split second to realize he should be running before he’s grabbed by the collar and shoved roughly to the ground, dagger at his throat.  

“You ran,” his father snarls.

Abram feels like he’s sinking. “I didn’t.”

The dagger digs deeper into his throat and Abram chokes, a warm trickle of blood begins making its way down his collar. “Don’t lie.”

His father raises his other hand and presses down on Abram’s windpipe cutting off his breath, and as Abram’s vision blacks out all he can think about is the promise he made to Andrew. He wants to keep it so bad, but he can’t help it when his eyes flutter shut, and he finally loses consciousness.

The darkness hurts less than the light ever did.

Abram isn’t sure how long has passed when he finally wakes up. All he knows is that the cuts and burns Andrew had healed are open and blistering again, causing his skin to be sticky with blood, and pain to boil through his veins. He’s back in his father’s classroom, tied securely down to their work table. He’s alone, at least, which is the only good thing he can find in this situation. Abram supposes it’s been longer than a day, he wonders how mad Andrew is that he didn’t keep his word.

Abram’s eyes slide shut again, and his conscious drifts into a fitful sleep. He’s awoken at times by burning fever, and others by teeth clattering cold. He opens his eyes time and time again to only find darkness and pain, the cold rock of the basement trapping moisture and making Abram skin clammy. He can’t tell if it’s been days or minutes, and Abram thinks between the fever, the pain, and the solitude he might be starting to lose it.        

Sleep brings the absence of pain, but it also brings dreams Abram can’t make sense of.

He sees himself and Andrew, but it’s not Andrew, it’s someone older with winding silver sigils that scroll up his arms in intricate tattoos. He holds the moon in the palm of his hand as he gazes at Abram, silver eyes devoid of the black that usual haunts them. The Abram that stands in front of Andrew isn’t quite Abram either. He is also older, and dressed in robes that flicker with an internal light, as if woven from the essence of stars. His eyes glow a bright blue in the darkness surrounding them, and highlight the golden paint that’s drawn in patterns under his eyes and on his brow. 

Andrew spins the moon once in the palm of his hands, then tosses it to Abram with little care who catches it with a grin. Andrew says something to quiet for all but their own ears. Abram is tossing back the moon a second later laughter echoing into the night sky, and Andrew smiles.

The dream fades into something different, and Abram finds himself running across a vast plane, feet bloodied and raw from the sharp rocks that litter the ground. Abram knows he’s been running for ages, and he knows he can’t stop. Stopping means death, so Abram keeps going long past the point when he should have collapsed from exhaustion. He pushes himself, and pushes himself until the rocky planes slowly fade away, and Abram is running through darkness, the only source of light the moon that shines indifferently overhead. There comes a point in time when Abram’s legs give out, sending him sprawling to the ground. Abram tries to get up but he can’t, there's nothing left to him, and he resigns himself to wasting away on the ground as he stares at the cold moon.

He closes his eyes.

Then opens them again a second later, to find a young man standing over him with a curious tilt to his head, his eyes are a bright silver that reflect the moon above him, and his hair is so light it almost seems white.

Andrew, some part of his mind tells him.

“Are you giving up just like that?” the young man asks, then holds out his hand. “Get up.”

Abram makes a face, but slowly reaches for the hand. It’s surprisingly cold for something living.

The image shifts, and Abram is suspended in the darkness of the sky. The moon sits beside him a silent watcher in dark robes that blend with the black of the night. Dark thunder clouds rumble under him, and lightning flashes with the whims of a deity Abram feels like he knows well, it is the sky after all. The moon rolls his eyes and looks to Abram. They watch each other for a moment before Abram bridges the distance. 

The moon may look like a cold distant thing, but Abram always found him full of warmth.    

There is a fox that runs through the cosmos, guiding the lost to the sanctuary of the moon, and keeping the secrets whispered in the night. The fire of stars alights from its paws, and the moon is keeps it company in its journey through the sky.

Abram awakes with a gasp as he is yanked from the table, hitting the hard dirt floor with a thud. He stares at the toes of his father’s boots, before slowly looking up to see the man’s sharp face. His father grabs him, and lifts Abram to his feet, dragging him to the cellar door and up the stairs. For the first time in what felt like ages Abram sees the light of day, it’s less welcoming then he wants.

Before him is a black carriage, drawn by black horses and flanked with soldiers also wearing black. The only spot of color comes from the red of the Empire’s emblem. It’s a gruesome sight. 

His father shoves him into the back of the carriage with a rough hand that sends Abram tumbling. “If you disgrace our family, I’ll kill you myself.”

With that the man shuts the door, leaving Abram to sink into the floor with a bone deep exhaustion that has spanned ages. As the carriage begins moving Abram’s eyes drift to a small window, and the forest beyond.

He swears on all he is that he’ll return to Andrew again, no matter what it takes.      

* * *

Evermore is somehow the exact opposite of Andrew’s temple, but Abram doesn’t know why he expected anything different. The capital of the Empire isn’t known for anything good. It is the seat from which wars that tear countries apart are plotted, where the blood of thousands is spilt carelessly by the decisions of few.

He’s barely been here five minutes, and Abram already hates it.

The castle he’s dragged into is more like a fortress in lay out. Carved into the side of a tall peak it splays out over the land in intricate steps, and is surrounded by an imposingly large wall. At the foot of it is a colorful city that Abram only sees in glimpses from the window of his carriage.

As he’s pulled through the halls of the castle, it occurs to Abram that this place is designed like a maze not only to keep invaders out, but to keep its unfortunate guests in. He tries to commit the long dark halls to memory as best he can. He’s going to get out of this place one way or another. The how and when he doesn’t know yet.

Abram isn’t sure where his guards are taking him until he’s thrown into a dimly lit room adorned in blood red tapestries that depict the Empire's insignia. Abram lands harshly on his hands and knees, nausea turning in his stomach as pain echoes through his body. He takes a shaky breath, and looks up with a glare to the man who stands over him.

Abram recognizes him from his visits to his father’s palace, and while Tetsuji Moriyama doesn’t look like much as he stands in front of Abram, weight balanced on a cane, Abram knows enough about the dealings he does with his father to be wary. The Emperor's younger brother is a man who has won more battles than anyone in the country, a general that is the driving force of the Empire's ability to conquer others.

There are three boys behind him. Kevin and Riko Abram recognizes for the times he’s had the misfortune of being forced to interact with them, but the third he’s never seen before. He watches Abram with a blank face that almost rivals Andrew’s, but behind his stormy grey eyes he looks miserable. Abram can’t blame him.

“Nathaniel Wesninski,” Tetsuji stares down at Abram with cold, dead eyes. “You are my ward now, do you understand?”

Something in Abram cracks at the use of that name, and he clenches his hands into fists. Gritting his teeth, he stays silent, and intensifies his glare.

Tetsuji looks on, unimpressed. “Answer me.”

Abram keeps his mouth shut.

The cane raises off the ground in a swift movement, and strikes Abram across the cheek, sending him sprawling to the ground. Kevin flinches, but Riko’s face splits into a smile, the other boy simply looks away. Abram can taste blood in the back his mouth. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Abram says carefully, eyes trained on the cane still poised in front of his face. 

“You will address me as Lord Moriyama when you speak, understand?”

Abram contemplates attempting to set the man on fire for a long moment, before he sucks in a breath. “Yes, Lord Moriyama.”

Tetsuji nods, then turns to the boy’s behind him. “Jean, take him to his room.”

The third boy steps forward, and grabs Abram by the arm, hauling him up. Jean steadies him when Abram’s legs try and give out, then pulls him out the door a second later. Their pace is swift as they make their way through the dark halls, and it's all Abram can do to stop himself from stumbling every three feet. Jean is silent at his side, but Abram finds the boy watching him every so often as they turn a corner or take a flight of stairs. 

There’s a familiarity there that Abram recognizes from his time spent with Andrew, and he narrows his eyes. 

Jean looks to him again. 

“What?” A mix of hostility and coldness cloud his words, but there’s definitely something tugging at the back of Abram’s mind, like a memory trying to resurface. Abram’s getting tired of these memories that seem buried in his mind, and only arise in fleeting moments, then disappear before Abram can grasp them.

It’s frustrating, but he feels as if he’s found something.

Abram wonder’s what Andrew would do if he met Jean. Would Andrew recognize him like he did Abram? 

He can’t be sure, but he has a hunch.

Jean’s frown deepens as they arrive at a door that he pushes open to reveal a small room made cramped by the two beds that take up the space. Jean simply shakes his head. 

“What?” Abram repeats.

“Don’t cause trouble, Nathaniel. It will harm to the rest of us,” Jean says quietly, voice think with a familiar accent that Abram can’t place.

“...My name’s not Nathaniel,” is all Abram can think to say as he takes the last small step into the room. It really isn’t much, bare walls and floors. The only sign of life is the book shoved under the pillow of the leftmost bed. 

There’s a deep sigh from behind him. “I know, Abram.” Then Jean shuts the door, leaving him alone.

Jean shouldn’t have known that name.

Abram thinks he might need to revise his escape plan. Hopefully Andrew would wait for him.

* * *

The years pass slowly, without Abram seeing a spec of the world outside of the Moriyama’s fortress, let alone having any chance to entertain even the thought of escaping. It becomes apparent to Abram within the first three months that the Moriyamas want nothing more than to mold him into a tool to use at their disposal. It’s by the third year that Abram realizes it might be working.   

He’s become used to days filled with nothing but training and Tetsuji’s harsh hands. He’s nowhere nearly as terrifying as Abram’s father, he isn’t one to use knives, but Abram has learned to fear that cane he always carries. 

What little down time he gets in between his training to be a Moriyama dog is spent with Jean, they reside in the same room and spend almost every second together. Riko and Kevin are also permanent fixtures in Abram’s miserable life. He’s grown to tolerate Kevin over the years, maybe even like him if Abram was being generous, and it wasn’t one of the days they were fighting. But he couldn’t stand Riko. The boy thought he owned them, and Abram couldn’t wait for the day he finally got to carve that possessive look off of Riko’s face for good. Hopefully it would come soon, before his abuses got even more violent. Riko might think he likes knives, but he’s nowhere as skilled at using them as Abram.

While the other boys are trained for the battlefield, Abram’s trained for the shadows, to eliminate targets without fanfare. He supposes every throne needs an assassin, at least he’s not taking over his father’s mantel now. At least, not entirely. 

Small wonders.

Sometimes when they’re able to be alone together Jean will teach Kevin and Abram the language of his homeland, and Abram will in turn show them how to find the innate magic in the air and weave it into something they can use. Jean favors the wind, and controlling the currents of electricity, while Kevin finds ways to discern an object's history at a glance and see far off places with a blink. 

There’s a light in Jean’s eyes when they’re together like this that’s typically missing. Abram can tell Jean knows more of magic than he lets on, but Jean seems more at ease when they’re together like this, and he plays down his abilities so he can stay with them longer.

Kevin always looks so sad when he has to leave back to Riko’s side, and Jean closes back in on himself with the boy’s absence. They’re close, those two.

Often Abram’s thoughts wander to Andrew, and how the boy he knew is still trapped behind a seal they’d set out to crack. Alone in the temple where he died with only Wane and Wax for company. It isn’t a pleasant thought. He should have stayed when he had the chance. In retrospect there was no way for his father to find the temple without Abram’s amulet, but at the time he hadn’t realized that.

The years put a lot of things into perspective.

He grips that amulet now as he stares up at the dark ceiling of his and Jean’s room. Andrew always said they had time, Abram hopes Andrew remembers that as he waits. Abram has the beginnings of a plan to get back to Andrew, it involves playing into the Moriyama’s game, but Abram is willing to get his hands bloody if it means finding a way to save Andrew. It’s a small sacrifice in comparison.

Abram frowns, and turns his head to Jean who has his eyes closed, but isn’t asleep. Abram thinks his plan might work out for all of them. 

“How much do you remember?” Abram askes into the silence.

Jean opens his eyes and glares over at him. “It’s late.”

“Just tell me.”

“How much do you remember?” Jean shoots back, and Abram sighs.

“Nothing, you know that.” It was only recently that Abram has realized he should remember something, that there was a life before this one he had experienced. Andrew had been so good at not mentioning it, but Abram understands why he didn’t now, explaining would have only confused him. Abram might be older, but he’s still not sure he understands it fully. 

Jean rolls to his side, and shoves an arm under his pillow. “I remember everything.”

Abram closes his eyes. “So does Andrew.”

“That’s no surprise.”

It isn’t. Andrew hides it, but he has a very keen mind. 

“I don’t know what happened to the moon god, though,” Jean says. “I was gone by then.”

“It’s only known that the moon god died, not any of the others,” Abram digs a little deeper, though he knows he’s reaching the part where Jean usually stops talking. 

“That’s because he was the only one that did, but long before that two others disappeared. One was taken, and one went missing looking for him,” Jean’s voice is very quiet as he says it, as if he’s trying not to break something. 

Abram think’s it might be himself. “What happened?”

“They were both captured, their powers sealed and used to benefit others until one day their souls escaped back into the world.” Abram opens his eyes, and looks at him, Jean’s eyes are trained on the wall. “And the cycle starts over again, because gods never really die.”

And Abram knows that to be true, Andrew might now be less than he was, but he is still something. 

“I’m going to get us out,” Abram says to Jean.

Jean meets his eyes. “You’ve already done enough.”

It’s false and they both know it. 

“This time, I’m not going to fail.” Abram is sure of it. He’ll get them out of this, then go and finally break Andrew’s seal.  

Jean closes his eyes and sighs, but says nothing to that.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a day early because i have a bunch of tests this week and i wanted to get it out before all that happened.  
> thanks for reading/kudoing/commenting!!  
> edit: lmao seconds after posting this i realized i left the u out of ichirou's name this entire chapter so here's me fixing that

Emperor Kengo’s health is declining, it has been for the past year. Slowly the Emperor is dying, and Abram knows this is an opportunity he can’t pass up. If Emperor Kengo dies then his first-born son, Ichirou, will inherit his throne, leaving the newly crowned Emperor surrounded by people only loyal to his father. A dangerous situation to be in, especially when trying to establish oneself as a ruler. There will certainly be attempts to take his throne, and Ichirou will need his own circle of those he trusts to take out the remainder of his father’s followers, and stabilize the Empire.

Abram thinks he can convince Ichirou to let them into his inner circle.

Jean thinks he’s crazy.

Abram can’t disagree with him, but it’s not like their current situation with Riko and Tetsuji is good. With Kengo’s decreasing health Riko’s temper increases in severity, and his outbursts become more frequent. Abram and Jean get the brunt of Riko’s tantrums, but Kevin’s become his punching bag more and more often as time passes. None of them are without injuries these days, and it’s beginning to effect even Kevin’s ability to keep up with Tetsuji’s training.

It’s one thing for Jean and Abram to go through this, they’ve both been through so much worse, but Kevin isn’t like them, he’s just human. Frustratingly talented, but mortal from all Abram can tell. Even Jean has no recollection of him. Kevin is only here because of familial connections, and his own unfortunate luck.

Riko takes it personally that he is Kengo’s second born, no one even considering him for the crown because of this. Ichirou has been the chosen child since he was born, Riko the cast-off seconds that were pulled out of the gutter by his bastard of an uncle. Kengo’s illness is a stark reminder the Riko will never be anything more than a tool for his brother to use, and he hates it. Abram would find it funny except it means more spilt blood from two people he’s come to consider friends, not to mention the injuries Riko inflicts on Abram himself.

He really hates knives.

With Kengo’s health in decline, and Ichirou’s rise to power inevitable, Abram decides to approach the Emperor’s heir during one of the countless diplomatic banquets held at the Moriyama’s fortress. He’d only been allowed to attend these recently, but Abram has used them to his advantage, and has become relatively known in the court. Luckily, his father has been too busy massacring people on the border to pay the capital a visit, so Abram hasn’t had to deal with that mess yet.

Ichirou is standing off to the side of the ball room, surrounded by a number of lesser nobles all scrambling at the chance to hold the future Emperor’s attention for a mere two seconds before another courtesan butts their way into the conversation. It probably doesn’t help that Emperor Kengo is absent, leaving his heir to deal with all the diplomacy. Tetsuji is notably missing, and no one is paying attention to Riko, which gives Abram a certain vindictive glee in watching him attempt to insert himself amongst the diplomats. Kevin and Jean disappeared together sometime within the last thirty minutes, but Abram can’t really blame them for leaving him alone since it is a rare opportunity to be away from both Tetsuji and Riko’s eyes.

Ichirou’s gaze wanders vaguely around the ball room, sharp eyes watching the crowd as it flows and mingles around him. Riko and his antics seem to catch his attention for a moment, before he deems whatever it is his younger brother is doing as beneath him, and looks away. Ichirou’s eyes land on Abram a second later, and Abram thinks it’s now or never as he holds the future Emperor's gaze and cocks an eyebrow. It’s not the appropriate way to regard the man, but Abram has found his ability to care dwindling rapidly as tensions within Tetsuji’s household grow.

He needs to end this before Riko does something irreparable, and this is the fastest way.

Ichirou acknowledges Abram with a small nod, and goes back to the primarily one sided conversation he is being forced into. Abram runs his left hand over the back of his right, eyes going to the rune of protection Andrew placed there so many years ago. It’s a comforting presence, and reminds him why he’s doing this.

Taking a breath, Abram walks up to Ichirou, trying not to feel as small as he actually is in the crowd that surrounds him. He joins the group in time to hear one of the regional dukes groveling in what seems to be a ceaseless ramble about increasing wolf populations in his province.

Ichirou cuts him off with a wave of his hand, and the man silences immediately. It’s impressive how he can control the court with only a look, but also terrifying. Abram tries not to think about how Ichirou could snap his fingers and sentenced him to death on nothing but a whim.

Ichirou turns to him. “Nathaniel.”

Abram bows stiffly, then addresses the man. “Your Imperial Highness, can I speak with you?”

“Impudent,” someone mutters behind Abram.

Ichirou’s face is a mask of cold calmness as he regards Abram, and really, maybe he should have thought this through more before walking up to him. If Ichirou refuses then he’ll be back to square one, and Abram might have to resort to more desperate measures. Though, at this point he isn’t sure what those would be.

Ichirou is silent for a moment, and the group of courtesans grumble around them. “As long as it is not about wolves.”

Abram forces a sharp grin onto his face that he knows looks disturbingly like his father’s, but that’s a connection he needs to use at the moment. His family is the Empire’s oldest allies, and still reign strong within their province. Ichirou too is forced to acknowledge this. “It isn’t Your Highness. Would you like to get some air?”

The question causes another round of murmurs to break out, but there is no way Abram is having this conversation where these gossips can hear. Without a word Ichirou turns, and Leads them out to a covered terrace. The moon is a slim crescent above them, in a day it will be completely void from the night sky. Abram finds his eyes lingering on its soft light, and the way the stars seem to cradle it in their arms.

He misses Andrew.

“You had something to say.” Ichirou keeps his back to Abram in what would seem like vulnerability on anyone else, but for Ichirou it is the simple knowledge that Abram can do nothing to him here. There is probably at least three guards watching in the shadows, waiting for Abram to make a move.

“Yes.” Abram takes a breath. “I think you will find my abilities more useful in your hands rather than your uncle’s.”

That elicits a response, and Ichirou turns around. “How so?”

“It might become dangerous in the coming years to have a group such as ours loyal to him. He will certainly use us against you when he inevitably tries to take your throne.” Abram says this slowly.

Ichirou’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

And there it is. Abram has suspected for years that the main family wasn’t aware of what Tetsuji has been training them for on the side, the use he has found in his wards. If the main family had known they would have ended it, someone with such strong ties to the throne could not be allowed to amass that much power within his own circle.

“My father taught me many skills,” Abram says, “But Tetsuji decided I’d be most useful as an assassin.”

Ichirou’s hand goes to his waist where he undoubtedly has a weapon of some sort. Abram raises his arms to show he is unarmed. “I’m just here to make a proposal.”

“Then make it.”

“We would be more useful to you than Tetsuji. My training is that of an assassin, but the others were also trained in ways that would make it easier for Tetsuji to take the throne. There are already many people within your father’s inner circle who have intentions against you, Tetsuji is simply the only one who has blood rights. Jean, Kevin, and I have no loyalty to him, but we have loyalty to this Empire.” A lie, but a necessary one. “It would be more beneficial to you if we were part of your court, rather than Tetsuji’s.”

“And Riko?”

Abram grits his teeth. “Your brother has been under Tetsuji’s thumb his entire life, and you are aware he wants your throne as much as you uncle does. It might be a good idea to keep a close watch on him.” He hates that he can’t just get rid of Riko now, but he has time, Abram reminds himself.

“It might be good to keep an eye on all of you, seeing as you’re as much a part of Riko’s court as Tetsuji’s.” Ichirou says blandly.

“It might be,” Abram forces himself to agree. “Either way, we want to serve you.”

Ichirou stares at him a long moment contemplating the situation. “Fine, I will allow the four of you into my court, but you will be sworn to unconditional loyalty. If you try anything, you will die.”

Abram bows deeply, it’s a win, but it doesn’t feel like one. “We will not disappoint you, Your Highness.”

Ichirou leaves him at that, and Abram straightens letting the cold night air wash over him as he releases his breath. One step forward. He hopes Andrew is okay. In the distance he hears what sound like a wolf howl, and he closes his eyes. The stars sing above him, and not for the first time Abram wonders how it all came to this.

* * *

Abram watches as Ichirou and his entourage parade down the main street of the capitol city, the crowd around him a cheering, merry, group that doesn’t at all reflect Abram’s own mood. Ichirou rides at the head of the parade on a pitch-black stallion. The newly crowned Emperor sits tall, head held high, and back straight. Flanking him are Riko and Kevin, their mounts equally black, and their armor glinting harshly in the sunlight. Jean rides a horse length behind them, eyes not leaving Kevin’s back, and hand resting protectively on his sword hilt. Abram has been stationed in the crowd to keep an eye on any potential insurgents, and eliminate them if need be, but it's been quiet so far. The crowd is too enamored by the festivities to consider how this might be a nice chance to stage a riot.

Abram slips from his post to follow the procession, it’s nice to be outside of the fortress for a change. He’s seventeen, and the number of times he’s been granted permission to go outside its walls in the past five years can be counted on one hand. All of those times occurred after Ichirou took them into his court. He’s put them to use, as Abram suspected he would, and as Riko and Kevin’s presence at Ichirou’s side solidifies Tetsuji’s presence has slowly waned.

Abram just needs to convince Ichirou to get rid of his brother. Riko is still the abusive bastard he’s always been, and he doesn’t know how to shut up, telling the three of them as he cuts their skin open with knives all the ways he plans on taking the throne one day. Like the idiotic piece of shit he is.

Abram can’t wait until he hangs.

The crowd pays him no mind, and Abram keeps to the shadows like he belongs to them. It’s easy from this vantage point to observe the people around him. Abram scans the area for anything amiss, eyes never staying in one spot for too long.

It’s not an interesting task, but Abram supposes it’s better than having to be up there with Ichiro himself. He’ll have to find Kevin and Jean later to check in on them, see if anything happened while he was on spy duty.

Something catches Abram’s attention out of the corner of his eye, and he turns in time to see a head of light blond hair weave through the crowd and disappear into an adjoining alleyway.

Abram freezes, his heart shuttering in his chest.

It couldn’t be him.

But Abram remembers his dreams, his childhood, and he feels like he would recognize that person anywhere.

He’s moving before he can stop himself, following the figure down the alleyway without a sound. The man is smaller than Abram but has broader shoulders, and is wearing the robes of a time Abram knows is long gone.

He feels like he’s choking, breath caught somewhere in his throat.

Abram catches up to him in three swift strides and reaches for the man’s shoulder, but stops himself before he can touch it. Instead he says a soft, “Andrew,” in a voice so quiet for a split-second Abram isn’t sure he spoke at all.

Then the man whips around at an impossible speed, and Abram finds himself being slammed against the side of a building. He closes his eyes as the impact sends waves of pain shooting ups his back from where the rough stone scrapes his armor across barely there scabs, reopening the cuts Riko gave him yesterday.

Abram sucks in a breath as a fist clenches at his collar, and pushes his harder against the wall. “What did you just call me?”

Abram cracks his eyes open to find a short blond man with Andrew’s face glaring at him, except it isn’t Andrew. Instead of silver two bright golden eyes burn with an intensity barely contained beneath his skin. Abram sighs in disappointment. “Oh, it’s you.”

The man frowns, then his eyes widen, and, really, Abram can’t remember what he did to be punished so harshly in this life, but he must have done something to deserve this. “You.”

“Me.” Abram should probably remember Andrew’s brother's name, but then again Andrew had never told him it, and Abram’s memories from his previous life were spotty at best. “Why are you here?”

The man takes an abrupt step back. “You have no right to be asking me that.”

Abram rolls his eyes at the nagging familiarity of this conversation. He definitely knew this guy once, but Abram isn’t sure he ever liked him. “Yes, right. You need to leave.”

“Leave?” the man asks incredulously. “The fuck you mean, leave?”

Abram isn’t sure how he ever mistook this man for Andrew, they might be twins but they were different in a number of ways. “I don’t know, go find your lions, or something. I’m sure Andrew wouldn’t mind you showing up.”

The man’s face goes blank, and there it is, the resemblance Abram had seen. “Andrew’s dead.”

“Of course, he is.”

The man looks like he’s about to start yelling, but is interrupted by a voice calling down the alley. “Aaron, there you are!”

Aaron, right, that is his name.

Another man appears around the corner, his long limbs and brown skin a stark contrast to Aaron. He wears a warm smile and there’s a bounce in his step, but when his eyes land on Abram and Aaron the smile drops off his face and he stills. “Oh.”

Abram thinks he’s very familiar as well.

“Nicholas.” Aaron turns his back to Abram, which is stupid on his part, but then again Abram doubts he could do anything to the god if he wanted to.

Not that he wants to.

Yet.

Nicholas, that name also strikes something in Abram’s memory. An earthy smell that brings life, soft yet strong. One of the only people who could get Andrew to smile other than Abram himself. Nicholas looks like he’s about to start hyperventilating as he continues to stare at Abram.

Abram decides to hurry this along. Ichirou will notice if he’s gone for to long. “What are you two doing here?”

“What are we doing here?” Nicholas asks voice raising in pitch, a little hysterically. “How are you here at all?”

That’s too long of a story for Abram to bother with. So instead he simply shrugs and says, “Jean’s here too.”

Aaron turns back around at that. “What?”

Nicholas seem to force himself to unfreeze, and walks the rest of the way towards them. “How is that possible?”

Abram shrugs and glances over his shoulder to the opening of the alley. The parade has progressed down the street and out of sight, he needed to leave. “We escaped, I guess, I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?” Aaron growls. “You don’t remember leaving and never coming back?”

Waves of heat are coming off of the man, and his eyes glow brighter in anger, like midday suns yearning to scorch something under their blistering rays.

“Aaron,” Nicholas says quietly.

“Jean was taken, someone had to go after him.”

Aaron sneers. “Right, then you both were captured, and the humans wreaked _havoc_ with your powers.”

Nicholas looks like he’s going to be sick, and Abram feels something twist in his stomach. “They sealed us away.”

“So?” Aaron is definitely yelling now. “They killed Andrew because of you!”

Abram’s breath freezes, sticking in his lungs like rose thorns. He was the reason Andrew died?

Aaron is shaking. “Because they had your powers…”

Nicholas steps between them. “Stop Aaron, you know Abram and Jean had nothing to do with it. They were as much victims as Andrew was.”

Aaron shakes his head, and buries his face in his hands. It’s quiet but for his harsh breaths.

They captured Jean and Abram, sealed them, then used their powers to destroy Andrew’s temple, and kill the god himself. Abram doesn’t want to believe it, but it makes too much since. Abram and Jean were used as weapons for years until… Until what? They were forced into being human?

Abram can’t recall, and the missing memories leave an acidic taste in his mouth.

That is how they killed a god, by using the powers of two others.

“Andrew’s still here, though,” is all he can say.

Aaron sucks in a breath, and Nicholas looks to him with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s dead, I guess, but he’s still at his temple. He woke up some time ago,” Abram says, wondering how these two didn’t realize. “He can’t leave, however. He’s trapped behind a seal that was placed there.”

Aaron and Nicholas blink at him owlishly, and really, why were they so surprised?

“We thought that’s why you sent your lions, to check on the temple.”

“They are messengers,” Aaron says a bit listlessly, clearly in shock.

“Well, they’re stuck behind the seal with Andrew now.” Something occurs to Abram, and his eyes widen slightly at the realization. “You two can finish cracking the seal.”

“Cracking the seal?” Nicholas asks, eyes shifting between the rich brown of freshly churned dirt, and rolling fields of green. He’s taking the revelation that Andrew still exists in some capacity better than Aaron is. Andrew’s twin looks like something in him is crumbling.

“Andrew and I had started before I was taken to the capitol, you two can finish the last step.” Abram is saying it as much to himself as he is to the two gods in front of him. “You’ll just need some of my blood.”

“Why haven’t you gone back?” Aaron asks, voice cracking with something between anger and hope.

“I can’t go without Jean and Kevin, I’m not leaving them here.” Abram knows it’s selfish, but he wants to save all of them. If Abram just disappears the consequences Jean and Kevin will face could be deadly.

“Who’s Kevin?” Nicholas asks, but he is ignored.

Aaron’s face has shifted from anger to a sort of begrudging determination, the suggestion planting itself in his mind. “If we crack the seal, he can roam free again.”

Abram nods.

Andrew will still be tied to the temple, but he’ll be free.

“Do you have a knife?” Aaron asks, quickly deciding to go with Abram’s suggestion. Perhaps Abram isn’t the only desperate one here.

Abram smiles sharply, and pulls out a blade. “Do you have a bottle?”

Aaron turns to Nicholas, and, while the man looks uncertain, he lowers himself to the ground without a word. Reaching out his hand he closes his eyes, and the dirt underneath his palm twists and folds until a small rock vial is formed. He picks it up and holds it out to Abram, who swiftly cuts into the palm of his hand, watching as his blood drips slowly into the vial, red a stark contrast to the dreary grey alleyway.

Once it’s full he closes his hand into a fist, a spike of pain shooting up his arm, but it’s easy to ignore.

Nicholas holds the veil gently, and stares at him with concern. “We can bring you to.”

Abram shakes his head. “Go free Andrew, and I’ll deal with things here.”

“Don’t tell us what to do, martyr,” Aaron grumbles.

Abram lets out a shaky laugh, the first to escape his lungs in five years. A Martyr, huh? He feels as if he’s heard that before. He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again the two gods are gone. Abram’s chest feels lighter as he slips back into the crowd and catches up to the procession.

Andrew is going to be free, even if Abram is stuck here.

He’s grateful for that, at least.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School is killing me so next weeks chapter might be a little late, but amazingly this one is on time  
> Thanks for reading/commenting/kudoing!!!!

While his father misses Kengo’s funeral and Ichiro’s coronation, he shows up at the capitol eventually with a victory on the western border, and the Empire's enemies crushed underfoot. He is greeted with ravenous celebration on the courts part, and fearful quiet on the townspeople's. Abram catches one glimpse of the man, and quickly retreats into the maze-like structure of the Moriyama’s fortress to disappear from the court’s eyes, if only for a moment. Ichirou will not let him be gone for too long, there will certainly be a feast tonight, a great commander has returned with victory staining his hands crimson, after all. It makes Abram want to gag, knowing he’ll be in the same room as that man.

He’s successfully avoided his father for nearly six years now, every previous time his father has come to the capitol Tetsuji has kept Abram too occupied with training for him to see the man. Now that he is part of Ichirou’s court he is expected to be by the Emperor’s side, where his father will inevitably be as well.

There is no way this will turn out well.

Abram finds himself back in his and Jean’s old room, the narrow beds and blank stone walls oddly comforting. It is still as small as it has ever been, much smaller than the current space they’ve been given, another thing that has changed with Ichirou. It is not a pleasant place, more like a prison cell than a room, there are too many memories contained within it that soak his memories in pain and fear, but it had also been a retreat, a place where in the dark of night Abram could finally breathe, where he could watch the moon rise and fall through its small window, and dream of what was and what could be.

Now it’s full of dust, and feels eternally empty.

Abram sits on his old bed and buries his face in his hands, tangling his fingers in the curls of his Auburn hair, so like his father’s.

He takes a long, shuddering, breath.

He wants the man dead so _bad._

He wonders what would happen if he just did it, could he even touch the man? It seems impossible, but Abram isn’t the child he was. He isn’t helpless anymore, has spent years outside of his father’s house, yet everything he’d gone through there seems to loom over him like a shadow he’ll never be able to escape. Tetsuji might have honed his skills as an assassin, but Abram’s father had been the one to teach him the intricacies of taking a man apart, had been the one he’d spilt blood for first.

Abram has taken too much in this life to ever be considered clean, to be worthy of fate turning an eye in his favor and removing the man permanently from this world without his intervention, so if he wants his father gone it will have to be Abram that does it. If he fails, though, his father will slowly tear him limb from limb, carving the flesh from his bones till he is stripped bare, reduced to regret and pain. He knows just how long his father can keep a person alive while torturing them, it is a lesson Abram can’t forget, and he doesn't want to experience it from himself.  

He is hesitant to act, if he is successful there will be backlash from the court. Maybe this can be a chance to get out, though. Kill his father, take Kevin and Jean, then run for it.

It might be impossible, he thinks, but then Abram remembers what Andrew told him the day he placed a rune of protection on his hand, or it might work. Abram has become well versed in killing, the act itself wouldn’t be hard. The problem would come from finding the right time to do it that wouldn’t end with all of them dead.

He can do it, though, in theory.

But it is his father, the dreaded butcher, and the man has alluded death so far, seemingly against all odds.

Abram pulls Andrew’s amulet from the collar of his shirt, and holds it gently in his hands. He wonders if Aaron and Nicholas have dealt with the seal yet. It has only been a week, but they are gods, and Abram doesn’t think it's unreasonable to assume they should be quick about it.

Unless they got stuck behind the seal as well, that is a thought Abram doesn’t want to entertain.

There’s a shuffle at the door, and Abram looks up to find Jean in the doorway, and Kevin two steps behind him.

He beckons the two taller men in with a wave of his hand. “Close the door behind you.”

Jean sits down on his old bed across from Abram, his long legs knocking against Abram’s knees. Kevin closes the door, then sits at Abram’s side. Abram wonders were Riko is, but decides not to look a gift horse in a mouth. The less he must deal with the man the better.

“You look terrible,” Kevin says bluntly, and Abram shoots him a glare.

“Shut up.”

“He’s meeting with Tetsuji and Ichirou currently.” Jean’s watching him closely, and Abram tries not to think about the worry he hides within the storms swirling in his eyes. “What are we going to do?”

That is the question, isn’t it?

Kevin looks between the two of them, but keeps his mouth shut for once. His eyes catch the light falling through the window, and for a moment Abram thinks he sees the green twirl and shift in intricate kaleidoscopic patterns, but he blinks, and it’s gone. Abram shakes his head and looks away, choosing to ignore that for now. Jean asked a question.

“We need to get out of here.” As soon as possible.

Jean nods, but Kevin frowns. “We can’t just leave.”

“He’s right,” Jean looks like it pains him to agree, but he does. “Especially with the Butcher here, we wouldn’t make it out of the capitol.”

“And there’s Riko,” Kevin says hoarsely.

“Riko won't be a problem,” Abram dismisses easily, he is the least of their problems. “As for my father... we’ll need to take him out of the picture.”

Kevin and Jean share a look, and Abram has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“How?” Jean finally asks.

The idea that is bouncing around Abram’s head will be suicide if he isn’t successful, failure meant he’d die in one way or another, but if he did succeed…

Well, Abram _is_ used to playing the long game.

“The Empire still condones duels, correct?”

Kevin’s mouth pops open in shock, and Jean’s eyes widen, something horrified flitting through them like a lightning strike. “You’re going to die.”

* * *

Jean might have been right, but it is too late for Abram to back out now. The celebratory feast is well under way, the festivities those of a battle won, loud and uproarious with too much drink, and too little morals. The castle changes with the Butcher’s presence, it becomes vicious and bloodthirsty, more so than usual. Luckily the crowd is such that Abram isn’t expected to stay by Ichirou’s side, which is good, seeing as Riko has taken up position on his brother’s left. The two are at the center of a crowd, Ichirou ignoring his brother for the most part, and Riko seething silently while wearing a sharp smile. He might have finally been acknowledged by the main family as existing, and might be regarded as an essential part of Ichirou’s court, but it is easy to tell the Emperor only sees him as a temporary measure. Riko is too ambitious to keep around permanently, Ichirou isn’t stupid.

Abram’s father is across the ballroom with Testsuji, the two generals an imposing presence that people at once migrate towards and fear.

Abram keeps away from them as well.

Jean and Kevin are nowhere to be seen, hopefully they are far away from the capitol already.

Their plan is pretty simple, Jean and Kevin are to go to Andrew’s temple while Abram causes a distraction to cover their disappearance. He’d given Kevin his amulet, insuring that when they reach the temple, they’ll be able to find it without a problem. It felt like he’d ripped a piece of his heart out as he handed it over to the man, but he knows it was the right thing to do. If he is successful, he’ll get it back eventually.

The distraction is simple as well, he’ll dual his father, and kill him, if everything goes right. Then he’ll inherit his families province, and be able to operate independently within it. He’ll be able to protect the temple, and his family, all while keeping an eye on Ichirou.

One day he might even get the chance to end the Moriyama’s rule. Coups are easier to plan if you have access to the court you want to demolish. Andrew probably wouldn't be opposed to helping either, Abram will just have to ask nicely.

If he fails, however…

…. Well, he has a promise to keep so he doesn’t think about that.

Abram takes a deep breath, right hand going to the sword at his waist, and looks up to find his father’s ice blue eyes boring holes into what’s left of his soul. Abram hopes he won't have to sacrifice that to, to pull this off.

Objectively, Abram knows the easiest thing would be to simply use magic, and burn the man to a crisp, but he can’t for a number of reasons starting with the fact that it would raise to many questions about him, and ending with the fact that he wants to see the man bleed, wants to be the one to cause it.

Abram’s morals might have become a bit skewed somewhere along the way.

He takes another breath, and walks towards the man with the last of his resolve. Maybe he has a death wish left over from his imprisonment, but somehow, he takes the terror running through his heart and shoves it to the deepest darkest corner of his mind, steeling his resolve.

This is a horrible plan, but it isn’t the worst he’s ever had. Which probably says something about him.

Abram stops some ten feet away from the man, and reaches into his pocket pulling out a medallion Jean helped him find this morning. It is the only way to obtain a sanctioned duel, an oblong golden coin like thing that acts as a token, and a declaration. It is inscribed with the Empire’s old motto, from back before the Moriyamas gained control. There aren’t many of them left, it’s traditionally the only way to challenge a noble in a no strings attached way. The Emperor would be obligated to allow it, forgiving whatever deaths occur.

In general, the Empire doesn’t want its nobles killing each other off, so the medallions giving sanction to do so are incredibly rare. Abram doesn’t question where Jean found this one, it’s probably best left unknown.

He tips his hand over letting the medallion fall to the ground with a sound that cuts through the noise of the court and leaves only the dull thrum of silence. Somewhere along the line he’s caught Ichirou’s attention, but the Emperor doesn’t say anything, only watching the two of them with slight interest.

Riko looks like a dog who’s been given a bone, the promise of blood sharpening his smile.

No one has noticed Jean and Kevin’s absence from the proceedings, good.

“What is this?” His father sneers.

“I thought we might as well get this over with before you decide to kill me in private.” Abram keeps his voice as even as possible. “This is a challenge, father.”

Abram isn’t sure where he gets the courage to look the man in the eye, his mouth moving faster than his brain can keep up. For a moment he’s glad Andrew isn’t here to see this, the boy he knew would have been pissed, and Abram is sure that aspect of Andrew’s personality hasn’t changed in the years they’ve been apart.

He wants to find out if he’s right.

His father’s mouth curls into a razor-sharp smile, the type he wears when he’s about to carve open a person, and Abram can’t stop the shudder that racks through his body. His father’s hand goes to his hip, pulling out the short sword he keeps there. “You’re going to regret this.”

Abram barely gets his sword out before his father takes the first swing.  

* * *

Abram is dying, there's a knife twisted deep between his ribs, and blood bubbling up his throat choking the remaining breath out of his lungs. He's dying and there’s nothing he can do about it.

He always knew it would end this way, that his father would probably kill him when he got the chance, and Abram had given him one on a silver platter. Yet, foolishly he'd believed, he'd hoped, that by some twist of fate he'd make it out of the capitol alive.

It isn’t all bad, though. His father lay across from him, Abram’s sword piercing his rib cage, directly through his heart. The man is dead, finally. Done by Abram’s hand, just as Andrew had promised.

It puts a smile on Abram’s blood splattered face that really doesn’t belong, and sends the crowd of courtesans gathered to watch the fight tittering in raised voices behind their hands. Abram wonders if they enjoyed the show.

At least Andrew is safe. Even if Abram’s gone there’s still Aaron and Nickolas to watch over him. Andrew has his freedom and his family back. Jean and Kevin are on the way to his temple, to a sanctuary where they can live in safety away from the Moriyamas, in a place the Emperor will never find.

It could have turned out worse, all things considered.

There’s a beat of silence where he simply stares up at the high ceilings of the ballroom, and wishes he could see the moon.

Then Riko’s face appears above him, and he wishes he was blind.

Riko’s teeth are bared, the sharp line if his mouth splitting his face in two. Why wouldn’t Abram’s stupid mortal heart just stop already? Get death over with so he doesn’t have to deal with this shit.

Briefly Abram wonders where Ichirou is, he should really learn to keep his dogs on shorter leashes. Maybe Abram has helped to teach that lesson.

Riko bends down closer to Abram’s face. “You stepped out of line Nathaniel.”

Abram sucks in a breath, and the blood in his throat makes a wet popping noise. “Go fuck yourself.”

Then Abram gathers the blood pooling in his mouth and spits it at Riko’s face. It lands in a blob under his left eye, running down the man’s cheek in a smear. Riko’s eyes widen in shock, and Abram lets slip a satisfied smirk. Then Riko’s face contorts into something furious, he wrenches his body back a step, raises his foot, and slams it down against Abram’s throat.

Something makes a crunching noise, and black spots start to slowly seep into Abram’s vision as Riko continues to apply pressure with his boot. Abram can feel his conscious slipping, his eyes fluttering as he tries and fails to take in any air.

Abram really hates that it’s Riko who gets to kill him, the bastard doesn’t deserve the honor.

There’s a commotion somewhere in Abram’s peripheral vision, a flash of silver light and a loud ringing sound. Riko looks up, startled as a man seemingly appears from nowhere, all pitch-black robes and fine blond hair. A fist connects with his face, and Riko is sent flying backward into the crowd, a cut off scream ripping out of his lungs.

Abram musters up a choked off laugh at the sight before his vision blacks out and he loses consciousness.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up a month later*  
> Hey guys sorry this is late, but good news i graduated university!  
> you may also have noticed but im making this a series. I have a prequel and a sequel plotted out currently, and will probably get to writing them closer to fall. the prequel will be from Andrew's pov and the sequel from Jean's.  
> Idk if that's a good thing or not but...  
> the next chapter is gonna be mainly an epilogue to just wrap this little fic up!  
> Thanks for sticking with me guys, the end is in sight! And for reading/commenting/kudoing as always!  
> also also shout out to paula for being cool just cause :D

Abram blinks his eyes open slowly, not understanding the sight that greets him. He’s in a temple of white pillars shining with silver moonlight, not the underworld or the Moriyama's fortress, and there’s someone leaning over him.

“Andrew,” Abram tries to say, but all that comes out is a raspy breath.

Something feels like it rips in the back of his throat, and he can taste the tangy iron of blood on his tongue. He tries to suck in another breath, but there is liquid that bubbles and pops where air desperately wants to get in, and he chokes out a painful cough that sends crimson down his chin.

Andrew’s quicksilver eyes widen from where he’s positioned over Abram, and a gentle hand moves to cover his throat, the cool thrum of Andrew’s magic begins to reverberate through his veins. Abram can feel his conscious slipping, but he doesn’t want to look away from Andrew’s face. It’s been years since he’s seen the boy, and it is a lie to say he’s gone unchanged. Andrew has grown into a young man somewhere along the way, and the sight makes Abram want to weep, but there are no tears, there will never be.

For a moment it seems as if the Andrew in front of him shifts to the one Abram knew in that life long past, and he wonders how he could ever have forgotten a face like that.

Andrew is beautiful.

“Idiot,” the man says, voice a quiet, deep thing, like the shadows cast by moonlight. Abram wants to sink into it, pull it over his being and wrap it around his soul, not letting go till the end of days. He feels the tension in his muscles ease immediately, and his eyes begin to close no matter how hard he tries to force them open. Andrew moves his other hand to run his fingers through Abram’s curls. “Found you.”

Abram makes a noise in the back of his throat, and his vision finally slips back into darkness.

“You’re safe now,” is what he hears whispered before he falls back into the darkness of dreams.

* * *

When Abram wakes up again the sun is out, and there are two winged lions sitting on either side of his head. Wane and Wax stare down at him, bright golden eyes filled with something that Abram thinks might be concern, but they’re lions so he can’t be quite sure.

It’s a relief to see them again, they haven’t changed, like so much else has.

Wane grumbles low in the still air, and Abram raises a shaky hand, gently placing it on her neck. Her fur is soft, and very much real under his touch. Wax takes that moment to press her nose into the side of Abram’s cheek, making him flinch slightly, but where there should be pain there is only the gentle warmth of her body heat. None of the aches that should be there are, and Abram knows it’s probably his god’s doing.

Slowly he pushes himself off the ground, letting his eyes rake over his surroundings. The temple looks different in the daylight. It’s bright for one thing, the white of its walls practically blinding in the harsh light of the sun, and for another the lack of cool night shadow makes it seem almost smaller, more knowable, and less mysterious.

Abram’s only ever seen it under the light of the moon, he’s not sure how he feels about it existing like this.

Wax rubs her cheek over the top of Abram’s head, rumbling deeply in her chest, and Abram sinks under the gentle pressure, relaxing just a little. He takes a deep breath, in, out, then raises a hand and pushes it under his shirt feeling the rough old scars he’s collected from years of abuse, and the newer ones acquired from being Ichirou’s hit man. His hand comes to rest on his chest, slightly under his heart were earlier his father had pierced him.

It was a blow that should have killed him, but he isn’t dead.

He isn’t dead because of Andrew.

_Andrew._

Abram cranes his neck to look about the temple once more, trying to find any trace of the man. There’s something fluttering in the pit of his stomach at Andrew’s absence, it makes Abram feel sick and queasy. Andrew wouldn’t just leave him, not after he found Abram again. He should be here. Abram knows this like he knows the stars spiral endlessly around the universe, like he knows where the moon rises, he will always follow.

“He’s not here,” Aaron’s voice cuts through Abram’s rising panic, and he turns to find the sun god sitting at the base of an intricate column carved with depictions of stories long past, deaths forgotten and lost to time. “He’s asleep.”

“Where,” is what Abram means to say, but only a breath hisses strangled from his throat.

That’s not good.

“It’s daytime,” Aaron goes on as if Abram hadn’t made a sound. “And he used up too much power bringing you back from death's door. He’s too weak at the moment. He’ll be back by night.”

Abram nods, Andrew is strongest at night, when darkness floods the earth. He takes a deep breath and tries again, asking a different question. “Are Jean and Kevin here?”

It comes out as little more than a croak, but there are words behind the rasp and that’s good enough for Abram.

Aaron snorts, a sneer coming to decorate his face as he gestures to the lions. “They were almost eaten when they showed up, we’d only just got the barrier down. You should have seen Andrew’s face when he saw Jean. It’s amazing they’re still alive.”

“Where are they?” Talking hurt, but Abram is used to pain. He only hopes Riko’s gotten to experience it tenfold. That the Moriyama's reaped the seeds they sowed by the actions they took, that they suffered for what they did to Kevin and Jean. And if they haven’t then Abram will make certain they do one day.

That he swears.

“Wandering.” Aaron raises a hand when Abram tries to pry himself off the ground. “Just stay there, I’ll find them.”

And with a flash of light he’s gone, leaving Abram alone with only the lions for company.

* * *

The sun has lowered significantly in the sky when Jean and Kevin finally show up. Abram has moved himself to the bottom of the pillar, watching quietly as clouds pass in wisps. He takes this time to think, to reflect. They’re safe here, for now, Andrew’s temple isn’t easy to find, and the knowledge of it has been lost to time, but it makes Abram wonder how much the Moriyamas know. How it came to be that not only Abram, but also Jean came under their control. It can’t be coincidence, something about it screams ‘planned’.

It doesn’t make sense for Jean and Abram’s souls to escape imprisonment only for them to be reborn as mortals. That isn’t how death works for gods, they should have ended up in a situation more like Andrew’s, awakening slowly to a world changed.

But that isn’t what happened, Abram was born a Wesninski, and Jean a Moreau. It doesn’t make sense.

Something had to have caused it.

Something someone did.

Purposefully.

But why? To what end?

Jean comes over to him, grey eyes swirling with the force of barely controlled winds, the storms contained within them are lessened, however, by the open worry he wears on his face. Kevin is three steps behind him, mouth parted in silent awe as his gaze wanders the temple that surrounds them. Abram spots it again, the little patterns that whirl endlessly in the man’s eyes, and wonders.

Maybe Kevin had been purposeful too.

Sinking slowly to his knees Jean comes to sit beside Abram, shoulder brushing lightly against his own. Kevin kneels in front of him hand coming up before Abram’s face, it pauses, however, at the growl that escapes Wane’s mouth. Jean shoots the lions a glare, but they don’t move from their perch some ten feet away.

“They really don’t like you,” Abram croaks.

Kevin shushes him. “Don’t waste your voice on nonsense.”

Abram shoots him a glare, but shuts his mouth with a snap. The scratchy feeling in the back of his throat has only increased since he’s finally opened his mouth, but Abram is slowly learning how to work around it. At least they can understand what he’s saying.

“You look like shit,” Jean speaks up solemnly, and Abram turns his glare to the taller man.

“At least it’s not a permanent state for me.” Abram’s barb is only met with an eye roll on Jean’s part.

“Riko did that,” Kevin says, and his voice is drawn thin, like silk spun too tightly.

Jean reaches over and places a hand on his shoulder, touch light and fleeting, there and gone in the blink of an eye.

Abram nods slowly. “Do you know what happened to him after?”

Kevin looks away, gritting his teeth as he lowers green eyes to the marble beneath them.

“Andrew happened,” Jean says evenly. “I don’t think Riko will be coming after any of us.”

Abram lets that sink in, and a sharp smile begins creeping its way onto his face, forged by knives and blood. “Good.”

Jean watches him for a long moment, shoulders slumped in on himself, but there is something in his face that is lighter, like skies clearing after a long winter.

Something's changed, and Jean can feel it too.

It is good Kevin wasn’t there to see it, Abram supposes.

“What now?” Kevin’s voice cuts through a silence that Abram hadn’t noticed had settled around them. It isn’t as sharp as normal, more subdued, and Abram can tell from his eyes that Kevin is still processing all of this.

Abram lets the question sink in.

What do they do now?

There is so much…

“We need to fix this.” Abram says, and hopes it makes sense.

Jean simply raises an eyebrow at him.

Abram sighs, then gestures between the two of them. “ _This.”_

Jean looked down to his hands, flexing his scared fingers, then over to Kevin, something sad crossing his features. “I don’t think we can.”

“No,” Abram says sharply. “We can, we just need to find a way.”

“Find a way…” Jean bows his head, dark curls moving to cover his eyes.

“Then we will,” Kevin says to Abram’s and Jean’s surprise. They look to him sharply, eyes wide, and Kevin squares his shoulders. “We’ll find a way.”

And Abram finds a laugh, hoarse and scared, bubbling from his throat. Kevin of all people, of course it’d be him, Abram can’t help the hope he feels blooming in the pit of his stomach at the thought.

* * *

Abram waits till dusk settles in the sky to go find Andrew. Jean and Kevin have retreated for the night in quiet whispers that Abram suspects are the beginnings of a plan that may end horribly. He pries himself off the ground slowly, legs weak from disuse, and finds himself once again wandering the halls of this temple. It’s similar, yet different. It has changed with the years.

In a way it seems more real, more grounded in this world.

It makes Abram wonder how much Andrew has changed with it.

His legs move him in the direction of their tree. Their lions had disappeared sometime in the afternoon, to where Abram doesn’t know, but he misses their presence at his side. He’d only had them back or a few hours, but now that they’re gone again the hole they leave is more noticeable.

It doesn’t take long for Abram to find that place again, where he’d first seen Andrew, where they’d fist started cracking the seal, where he’d first began living. Abram walks up to the tree slowly, running his hand over the rough, familiar, bark.

This at least hasn’t changed.

“I waited,” Andrew speaks behind him, and Abram turns to find him sitting carelessly on a decaying pillar. “But you never came back.”

Abram’s heart rate jumps at the sight of him, and Abram has to stop himself from running to the man at that very moment.

It’s all too much, the distance between them seems vast in the silent stillness of the night.

Abram takes a long moment to stare at him, soaking in his presence like a dying man seeing the first glimpses of a future life. Andrew is older, in robes of night and shadows, and his hair, while still moonlight pale, is shorter than Abram remembers it. It has stopped curling delicately around his ears, soft with the touch of youth. Now it seems sharper, like Andrew himself is. His eyes are still the same, however, twin moons that sit in an empty void.

Abram takes a listless step towards him. “I tried to come back.”

“Not hard enough.”

“Andrew.”

The name feels ripped from his throat, raw and ragged. Abram is adrift, with land in sight that he isn’t sure he can reach anymore. He’d left again, would Andrew even want him back? After everything? In this life and his past Abram has done unspeakable things, has been a tool for others to use and use for their own gain. Andrew deserves so much more.  

“Abram.” Abram blinks, and the man is standing before him. Bright eyes close as he stares at Abram’s own. It’s a moment before Abram realizes he’s looking down at the man, and a smile crosses his face briefly. That hasn’t changed either. Andrew reaches up and traces a slow, gentle finger across Abram’s cheek. “You’re not leaving again.”

“No.” Abram leans into the touch, craving more contact. “I’m not.”

And it’s a promise.

“Good.” Somehow Andrew is even closer, breath ghosting across Neil’s lips. “Next time I’m following you.”

Abram isn’t sure he likes that thought, but he doesn’t say that to Andrew.

“Could you keep up?”

“ _Shut up,_ Abram.” Andrew’s voice is quiet, but his eyes are sharp, the hand cupping Abram’s face goes to grip his jaw, and Andrew’s nose brushes against his own.

“I missed you,” Abram says, and Andrew’s breath hitches. “For so long. After so many years I found you again, and I… I didn’t even know.”

“I _lost_ you again,” Andrew grinds out. “I won’t let it happen a third time.”

Abram smiles, small and brief. “Thank you, Andrew.”

“Don’t.”

“Too late.”

“I hate you.”

“It’d be easier if that were true.”

Andrew lets out a frustrated noise, then leans forward, pressing his lips firmly against Abram’s own. It’s rough, but gentle at the same time, and Abram finds himself sinking in a way he barely remembers. They don’t move as one, they’ve never been that close, but it’s like a dace between them, a give and take and give. Andrew shoves himself closer, hand going to grip at Abram’s hips, fingers cool as they brush over Abram’s warm skin. Abram runs his fingers through silk like strands of hair, tugging lightly in a way that makes Andrew groan deep in his chest.

They pull away with a rush of breath after what feels like minutes, but could have only been seconds. Andrew is disheveled, hair sticking up in odd directions from Abram’s hands and his lips are swollen and wet.

Abram swallows thickly, voice rough from something more than his injuries when he speaks. “You should do that again.”

Andrew rolls his eyes, but pulls Abram back in, their lips crashing against another like celestial bodies finding one other in a universe too vast.

Abram pulls Andrew closer, and lets himself fall.

They’ve found each other again, and Abram will tear the world asunder before he lets go of Andrew a third time.  


	12. Chapter 12

The stars dance slowly across the sky, creating wayward wisps of light that dance in and out of Abrams vision, a movement orchestrated and executed by nothing and everything all at once. A movement he knows in the depths of his soul, where the little truths that make up his being hide. The stars are meant to whirl across the universe, as Abram is meant to run in their wake, at once chasing what he cannot catch, while running from monsters constantly in pursuit.

These are the truths fate has given Abram; death and running, and the stars he helped place in the sky, but can never actually reach.

And then there is Andrew, a truth Abram has chosen to keep for himself.

The moon, and the stars, and the vast nothingness that exists between them will always be theirs. This Abram knows, like he knows the night.

Andrew is the moon, and protection, and healing, and trust, and Abram is not letting go of him again.

He can’t.

“What are you thinking about?” Abram turns his head to find the moon watching him, cold silver eyes only separated from his own by a truly insignificant amount of space.

“You,” Abram says it quietly, voice still rough from the damage it took. Andrew’s eyes narrow each time he hears it, like he’s angry at himself for the permanence of the injury. He doesn’t listen to Abram when he reminds the god it wasn’t his fault.

“Stop that,” Andrew deadpans, a pale hand coming up to cover Abram’s eyes, encasing his vision in darkness.

Abram huffs moving to push Andrew’s hand away. “No.”

Andrew moves and Abram is faced with a full view of the scowl the man is wearing. He lets out a small laugh, and Andrew shifts where he lays beside Abram, glare intensifying.

Abram presses closer. “I think you like it.”

“You’re delusional.”

“I think you like that too.”

Andrew rolls on his side to better face him. “You know nothing, Abram.”

There is something like a smile on Abram’s lips when he replies, “I know you.”

Andrew lets out a sigh, breath ghosting thin against Abrams skin, and it is all he can do to stop himself from bridging the remaining distance between them.

The temple around them is quiet with night taking reign, and even the spirits that normally haunt this place have been strangely absent since Abram woke up. Jean says it’s only to be expected, but Abram doesn’t know what he means, spirits are not under any of their jurisdiction. The never left the temple alone before and Abram doubts that had changed in the time he’d been gone. He supposes it could be due to the number of gods gathered here at the moment, that perhaps the spirits retreated to safer waters while they were here. But it could be something else, and Abram doesn’t like the fact that he can’t know for sure.

“What’s wrong?” Andrew asks into the quiet.

“The spirits,” Abram responds, “What happened to them?”

Andrew looks around them, eyes narrowed. They are truly alone, nothing else stirs. Even the wind seems to be holding its breath. “They’re gone.”

“Entirely?” Abram raises an eyebrow.

Slowly Andrew nods, eyes still casting their faint light as that examine the temple that surrounds them. “Yes, they moved on.”

“Why?”

“Because things have changed, this place isn’t dead anymore.”

“It never was.”

Andrew rolls his eyes as he turns to look at Abram. “You’re wrong.”

“No, just because you were doesn’t mean this temple was, the memory still lived.”

Something contemplative passes over Andrew’s face before he shakes his head. “You’re impossible, Abram.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Yes, I do.”

Andrew watches him for a long moment, the stars overhead twirling in unison with the spin of the earth. It still amazes Abram how it all ends up so intertwined and connected. Even the littlest things were bound to one another, influencing the other in an intricate pattern weaved by fate.

Abram had once not believed in such a thing, back in a time before he was ever a god, when Andrew had first found him, back when he was only a scared boy running from monsters that hunted him from the shadows. Looking back, it seems like things haven’t changed much. Time seems to repeat itself at first glance, but things aren’t the same. Abram’s second life is much unlike his first in many different ways, but there are similarities. Abram thinks that might be due to his own horrible luck, however.

“Stop thinking,” Andrew say, reaching over and placing a cool hand to trace the thump thump thump of Abram’s heart. It speeds up at the gods touch, so telling, and so very very mortal.

Abram has found himself fixing on it recently, how he is stuck like this, what happened to him in the centuries after he got captured looking for Jean. He still doesn’t really remember that part. Isn’t sure whether he should be grateful for that or not.

“I don’t want to die a mortal,” Abram admits quietly. The night takes his words and molds them into the shadows the surround the temple.

“You’re not going to _die,_ ” Andrew’s voice is low, and the fingers on Abram’s neck still.

“Mortals age and die, Andrew.” Abram finds he can’t look at him, gaze instead captured by the stars he feels he will never roam again.

“You can’t.” Andrew flicks him on the jaw, then slowly turns his head so Abram is facing twin moons again. “I won’t let you.”

“Andrew, I don’t know if that’s your choice to make.” Andrew narrows his eyes at Abram’s words, but can’t disagree.

“We’ll change that.”

Abram smiles slightly. “Want to get revenge, Andrew?”

“That too.” He presses close, resting his forehead against Abram’s own. “Don’t leave.”

“I won’t.” And Abram doesn’t feel like he needs to make it a promise, for he already knows it’s true. He won’t leave, and once he figures out a way to become immortal again, he’ll run amongst the stars with Andrew at his back and freedom at his front.

This is what Abram wants….And perhaps to kiss Andrew again.

It’s the second want he voices, and with a roll of his eyes Andrew obliges, leaning down and pressing into Abram as the moon and stars watch over them. Abram won’t let this be all they have; it will not be the end. Not as long as the stars and moon exist side by side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, that's the end  
> thanks for sticking with me! and for all the support!  
> Hopefully this wasn't too disappointing?  
> the sequel will start to be posted sometime after August if you're interested  
> thanks again for reading/commenting/kudoing!!!


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